


Things My Heart Used To Know

by hnnng



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Fantasy, Amnesia, Anastasia AU, Based off the musical not the movie, But mostly angst, Canonical Character Death, Claude and Hilda being bffs, Fluff and Angst, God I love that tag, Knowledge of Anastasia is not required, M/M, Multi, Non-Canonical Character Death, Romance, Takes Place in Early 20th Century, because ive never seen the movie lol, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2020-11-23 23:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20898236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hnnng/pseuds/hnnng
Summary: There's a rumor among the streets of Fhirdiad. No one dares speak it too loudly, but the people know it nonetheless. They say that the Crown Prince is still alive.Claude von Riegan and Hilda Goneril plan to take full advantage of this. All they need is someone who will play the part.(An Anastasia AU)





	1. Prologue- Once Upon a December

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [［譯］我心深處曾知道的事 | Things My Heart Used To Know](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22372414) by [betty302](https://archiveofourown.org/users/betty302/pseuds/betty302)

_ In the far north of Fodlan, where the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus resides, a young boy of seven sits forlornly on a delicate white couch. His blonde locks frame his face as he pouts. His name is Dimitri, and he is the Prince of Faerghus. _

_ But on this night, he is just a boy who is sad over the departure of his friends. Sylvain and Ingrid had already left to their respective houses many weeks before, and Uncle Rodrigue and Felix had been keeping him company since. He spends many joyous days playing with Felix in the courtyards of Fhirdiad. But now, Uncle Rodrigue and Felix must go home as well, leaving Dimitri all alone in the palace. It will be incredibly lonely and he is very much not looking forward to it. _

_ The brass handle of the door twists gently as Uncle Rodrigue enters, closing the door softly behind him. Uncle Rodrigue looks at him with a kind smile. _

_ “You’re going to miss us, huh?” says Uncle Rodrigue, in his gentle voice. _

_ Dimitri fixes him with a look and a pout. “I don’t see why I can’t come with you and Felix,” he huffs. Then, softer, “It’s going to be lonely with no one here.” _

_ Uncle Rodrigue pats him on the head, before reaching into the pocket of his coat and pulling an object out. _

_ “Hold out your hands,” says Uncle Rodrigue _

_ Dimitri proceeds to do so, and the object is placed in both of his small, yet strong hands. He realizes with a slight panic that this object is very light and fragile, whatever it is, and wills himself not to break it as he peers down at it. _

_ “A music box?” Dimitri asks, eyes wide and curious. _

_ “That it is,” says Uncle Rodrigue, lifting it up and twisting it. “Here you go.” _

_ The music box opens, revealing two figures that spin slowly as a beautiful melody plays. Dimitri sets it down as to not break it, having a tragic track record with delicate objects. He watches it with wide eyes, comforted by the soft lullaby playing from it. _

_ “The lullaby has words to it, but I’m afraid I’m not any good at singing,” Uncle Rodrigue laughs. “But I’m sure Lady Patricia knows it. You should speak to her about it.” _

_ Dimitri nods contently, gaze still fixed on the intricate music box as the two figures inside spin slowly, his eyes getting heavy. _

_ “Just remember, my boy, that one day, when you are older, you must come to see Felix and I up in Fraldarius. I’m sure your father will allow you to spend a month or two there,” Says Uncle Rodrigue, smiling gently. “Until then, whenever you listen to the music box, you can think of being with your friends, and you will no longer feel so alone.” _

_ Dimitri smiles softly, head cradled in his elbows as his eyelids become heavy. Uncle Rodrigue lays a blanket across his back and the world around Dimitri fades out as sleep overtakes _ _him._

* * *

  


_ After a day of reluctant farewells to Felix and Uncle Rodrigue, Dimitri sits near the windowsill where his stepmother dwells. _

_ After a few moments, he pulls out the music box and ever-so-carefully winds it up. _

_ “Will you teach me the words?” Dimitri asks. _

_ Her gaze is fixed on the world outside the window as she sings. _

* * *

It is nearing his 17th birthday soon, and as such, his father had insisted on holding a ball. Truth be told, Dimitri doesn’t _ hate _ balls. He just hates having so much attention drawn to him, women vying for a dance with him and men patting his back and remarking about “what a fine man he is.” Dimitri is still rather shy, even nearing adulthood. 

Plus, Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid will not be in attendance this year. His friends are caught up in their own studies, not that he can blame them. At least Glenn is around.

Dimitri sighs, watching as young men and women dressed in deep royal blues spin across the ballroom. 

“What is with the sighing, my boy?” says a deep voice from behind him.

Dimitri spins around, startled, only to let out a breath of relief when he sees who is behind him

“Father! You startled me,” he says. “But, I don’t know. I suppose it is because I miss my friends… As well as the fact that I am not so keen on embarrassing myself on the ballroom floor tonight.”

“Ah yes, your problem with having two left feet.” His father chuckles, before placing a hand on top of his blond locks and musing his hair.

“Father!” Dimitri exclaims, embarrassed.

“Dimitri. I want you to know how proud I am of the fine young man you’ve become,” His father says. “I’m very grateful to have a man like you for a son.”

“Ah, Father… Thank you,” Dimitri says. “By the way, have you seen mother around by any chance? I figured she would be in attendance tonight.”

His father frowns. “Now that you mention it, I don’t believe I—What’s that?”

His father is cut off by a lot crash. Dimitri blinks, hands darting towards the nearest wall for support. It feels like the palace is shaking. His gaze darts towards the windows, where he can see the silhouettes of soldiers, a flag held high in their hands. 

Glass shatters.

People are screaming, screaming, screaming.

He can’t find his Father or Stepmother.

Each breath he takes is filled with ash and soot, his face is singed by flames, his ears are ringing from the shots of guns.

He can see their flag much clearer now. It is a royal red. Adrestia.

“Down with the Blaidydd’s!” 

Dimitri is lost amongst the chaos, he turns, looking for his father, only to snap his gaze leftwards when he hears a gunshot, seemingly louder than the rest.

His father lays crumpled on the ballroom floor, blood oozing from seemingly everywhere on his chest.

A strangled cry tears out of Dimitri’s throat.

He turns away from the gruesome sight, unable to face his father’s unseeing eyes, only to come face to face with his stepmother. She clutches a pistol tightly in her grasp, finger ready to push the trigger and send bullets tearing through his chest.

He almost wants to laugh.

The last thing he thinks of is the music box, of words softly spoken to him, of the future, of friendships, and of--

A bang.

And then darkness consumes him.

  


No more than a day or so later, Rodrigue finds himself staring at his son’s charred and blood-stained gauntlets. It is all that he got back of Glenn. Felix has been shut in his room since.

Yet, he can’t help but think about what he heard from one of the more recent messengers.

“We searched everywhere, but the Crown Prince’s body… we just couldn’t seem to locate it.”

Foolish thoughts dance through his mind, and yet… he still hopes. 

* * *

  


_ “Far away, long ago _

_ Glowing dim as an ember _

_ Things my heart used to know _

_ Things it yearns to remember _

_ And a song someone sings _

_ Once upon a December" _


	2. A Rumor, A Legend, A Mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Hilda hear a rumor and come up with a scheme. Edelgard meets someone new.

Edelgard von Hresvelg walks through the streets of Fhirdiad, her long, white locks of hair twisted up into buns. Winter is settling in and many people lumber throughout the streets, huddled around burn barrels to avoid the frigid cold that is well known throughout Faerghus. Children wear mittens with holes through them and many men and women have worn-out boots.

_ It’s no wonder they seek the warmth _, Edelgard muses. She also feels quite chilly and tightens her coat around herself to keep the biting cold at bay. She isn’t accustomed to the cold winters of Faerghus, even though she spent a blurry period of her youth in Fhirdiad. Her lilac eyes stray towards a lone flag flying in the center of the block, the royal red of her homeland catching the wind majestically. 

It’s been five years since those flags changed from blue to red. Five years since the royal family--the Blaiddyd’s--were killed. Her mother had married into the Kingdom’s royal family and Edelgard herself had been in Faerghus when they were wed. Her mother had assisted in their killing. Edelgard has not seen her since. 

She sighs, shaking off the troublesome thoughts. There is no point in lingering on what has come to pass. She doesn’t need memories holding her back. Edelgard turns her eyes towards the people of Fhirdiad. Many have gathered around a makeshift podium, having caught word that she had come to give a speech of sorts. She clears her throat.

“Citizens of Fhirdiad,” she starts. “It has been a long five years of strife. You have suffered and starved. I hear you. But rest assured that you will suffer no longer.”

Edelgard tries not to meet their eyes, keeping her gaze fixed on an abandoned bakery across the street. “As you know, the parts of the Kingdom west of here are also under the control of Adrestia. As such, it has been decided that this area is the Holy Kingdom no longer. A new era is upon us, friends. One of peace and glory. And as such, this land will henceforth be known as the Faerghus Dukedom.” 

She pauses, taking a breath. “Thank you, that will be all.”

The people of Fhirdiad exchange nervous looks amongst one another as she steps down from the podium. They whisper criticism and worries as if she will not hear. 

“The Faerghus Dukedom? How ridiculous!” exclaims a man towards the back.

“Shhh! Not so loud!” says another nearby person, shooting a worried look her way.

The man grumbles, but doesn’t say anything more.

_ Oh well, _ she thinks. _ It is to be expected, after all. _

* * *

  


Meanwhile, among the crowd, a young man named Claude von Riegan watches. People start to disperse into groups to talk about the gossip, the current happenings, and their unsavory opinions of the Adrestian Empire.

“She _ calls _ it the Dukedom,” he muses aloud. “But the people will never not know it as the Kingdom.”

People are hungry, now more than ever. They have been for years. The Adrestian Empire has failed in winning over the people willingly, not for a lack of trying. They deliver promises of food, work, and money. Promises fulfilled by small, unsustainable portions and poor-paying jobs. People freeze and starve on the streets and the Empire turns its head to look away. Maybe they really _ are _ trying. But Claude thinks that if that’s the case, they need to start trying harder.

Claude lifts his arms to wrap them behind his head, discreetly turning his ear towards one of the clusters of people left nearby. It’s mostly boring gossip, as always. People talking about when the news of the “Dukedom” will hit the press, worried warnings that yet another border is closing, and more interestingly--

“Don’t tell anyone I told you but, I’ve got some news from the Kingdom,” says a nearby man. 

_The Kingdom which they aren't part of anymore_, Claude thinks.

“Shh! Not so loud…” scolds a young woman, her eyes darting left and right to see who may be watching. Claude looks away but keeps listening.

“Another imposter, apparently. Coming from _ Sreng _ of all places.” 

“I imagine Lord Fraldarius didn’t take too kindly to that one.”

Claude has heard this all before. Time and time again. It’s been the hottest gossip for a long time now. It’s definitely gotten around to the Adrestian officials by now.

“Do you really think he’s alive?” says another woman.

  
“You mean Prince Dimitri?” the man questions.

For what it’s worth, Claude thinks that these rumors are nothing but that. Rumors. There’s no way the Empire would have allowed him to escape alive. Especially with all the bloodshed and chaos from when they stormed the royal palace.

“The head of House Fraldarius must be a fool if he thinks that he’s actually going to find someone who’s not just after the reward.”

Now that is something that piques Claude’s interest. Particularly the word “reward.” He’s hungry too. He barely makes enough to keep himself afloat with what work he does. But before he can truly think further of it, a young woman with long pink hair tied up into pigtails approaches him hurriedly. 

“Claude! There you are,” she says. “They’ve closed another border. Maybe we should leave soon, before we get stuck here.”

Claude has known Hilda for a long time. They had been living back in the good ol’ Leceister Alliance, but they’d heard of good money to be made in Fhirdiad. That was before the death of the royal family. Now they’re stuck here. They don’t have the money to leave and start a new life somewhere else.

“Hilda! Just the woman I wanted to see!” Claude says cheerfully. 

“You’ve got that look in your eyes…” 

“The look when I’m coming up with a perfect scheme?” Claude laughs. “You know me too well. Because you’re exactly right. Listen, I’ve been thinking about the word going around town. Y’know, the thing they’re saying about Prince Dimitri.”

Hilda fixes him with a pointed look. “Claude, those rumors are stupid. Please don’t tell me you _ actually _ believe that?”

“Nah,” he dismisses. “But, just think. Lord Rodrigue, the head of House Fraldarius, is willing to pay whoever brings back Prince Dimitri. He’s willing to pay _ a lot _from what I’ve heard. We just need someone who can play a convincing prince and some tickets out of here. Then we collect the reward, get out of there, and boom! We’re rich.”

Hilda places her hand on her chin, furrowing her eyebrows together. “Well, we’d have to teach our ‘Prince’ what to say, how to act, who his family and friends are--or were--and that all sounds like an awful lot of work…”

He looks at her. “Hilda...”

...

“Damn your puppy eyes,” she sighs. “Fine, I’ll help you out. I am never one to say no to you, anyways.”

Claude smiles. He knows they’ve got their work cut out for them. They can’t just send anyone as Prince Dimitri. It has to be _ convincing _ or Lord Fraldarius will just throw them out on the spot.

“Well, let’s go then, shall we?”

* * *

Edelgard walks back towards her office near the long-abandoned palace. The clouds overhead have become thick and fluffy, prepared to dress the land in a blanket of snow. She shivers and draws her coat tighter around her shoulders.

She, more now than ever, hates winter. She used to like the snow in Faerghus as a child. When the first snow of the season came, she would--

Edelgard cuts that train of thought off before it gets started.

Edelgard passes several street sweepers, mindlessly sweeping their brooms across the dirty streets of Fhirdiad, their dark eyes are hungry. As she makes her way by, a nearby truck backfires. It startles one of the sweepers to her right, who flinches and… snaps their broom clean in half. Certainly some reflexes they must have.

Edelgard turns to them. “Ah, there’s no need to be startled. It was just the truck,” she says, nodding her head towards the aforementioned vehicle. 

The sweeper turns towards her. He is a tall man, muscular, but lean. The latter is not so surprising for someone sweeping streets, though. He’s probably around her age, but she’s not good at telling. He has blonde hair that reaches past his chin, clearly unkempt. Also not unusual. The right side of his face is wrapped in dirty bandages, covering his right eye. The left eye is the color of ice and has dark smudges underneath it.

He blinks at her.

“You look awfully cold,” she notes. “There’s a shop a few blocks from here. If you wish, we could go inside together and warm up a bit.” 

His eye makes looks up to meet with hers, before focusing on whatever is behind her. There is something so… familiar about this man, but Edelgard can’t quite place her finger on it. She feels like she knows him. Perhaps he was in the crowd when she was giving her speech. Who knows?

“Thank you,” he says. “But I can’t lose this job.” 

“Perhaps another time, then.”

“Perhaps.”

  
Edelgard nods her head towards him and continues on her way. She is quite a few blocks along when she realizes she forgot to ask for a name. For a minute, she considers turning around to go ask, but relents when she realizes he probably doesn't want her bothering him at work. But she resolves herself to ask if she sees him again.

* * *

Claude and Hilda walk in the direction of the theatre inside the abandoned palace. They had decided earlier it would be a good place to hold their “auditions.” It’s cold and many dislike going there, but more importantly; completely ignored by the Adrestian officials. 

Claude wasn’t planning on getting sidetracked, but--

“Bonafide belongings of the Blaiddyd’s! We’ve got clothing, trinkets, and more!”

Claude shifts his gaze towards a few men with a few fancy-looking items sitting atop some old boxes. They have various decorative weapons, rings, and silverware, among other things. 

_ They do look real enough, _ he supposes, as he makes his way over. 

One man who has been eyeing the seller’s items for a while now picks an object up. He ‘Ooh’s and ‘aah’s at whatever it is he has. 

“This has the initial ‘D’ written on the bottom!” the man gasps. “It must have belonged to Prince Dimitri! This is an amazing item, my friend. I would like to purchase it.”

“Sorry, but that’s not for sale. It’s a genuine item! I couldn’t part with it,” exclaims the seller. 

“We’re going to need _ something _to convince Lord Fraldarius that it’s really him,” Claude explains to Hilda, before drawing the seller’s attention. “Hey there! Two cans of beans for that… Music box?”

The man hesitates before relenting. “It’s a deal.”

Claude hands the seller his payment before taking the music box and walking away with Hilda. As they walk, he tries to figure out how to open the damned thing. Eventually, he gives up, instead deciding to look at the initial that's sloppily written on the bottom. It’s probably a fake. Oh well. 

“We’re going to need papers, tickets, and not to mention a lot of nerve to cross the border with the supposed last member of the Blaiddyd family,” Hilda points out. “And we need time to teach our ‘Prince’ how to be a prince. Time that we may not have, with all the borders closing.”

“Well, Hilda, if anyone can pull it off, it’s you and me.”

* * *

_ “It’s a rumor, a legend, a mystery _

_ Something whispered in an alleyway _

_ Or through a crack _

_ It’s a rumor that’s part of our history” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I removed and will remove any implications of romance when it comes to Dimitri and Edelgard (Anastasia and Gleb) because they’re stepsiblings and I’m not nasty. Anyhow, not much to say on this one. Sorry, it’s a little short, but it’s really just setting things up right now. I originally wrote it at like 11 pm but came back and added some more stuff. Hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading <3
> 
> If you wanna talk about FE3H or anything, come find me on tumblr @orangeejuice


	3. Another Time, Another World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Hilda find their Prince. Edelgard finds more gossip.

“ _ I _ am the Crown Prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd!”

Claude sighs, resting his chin on his hand. This is the last auditionee (out of the grand total of three) and they’ve all been  _ horrible _ . He and Hilda had scouted out blue-eyed blonde-haired men around the area who were looking for cash or food or whatever else men on the streets of Fhirdiad want. Clearly, this was a horrible idea. 

The current auditionee stares at him with an unimpressed look that could rival how unimpressed Claude feels. Maybe this one could’ve been good if he had tried. Instead, he is chewing gum. Gum. Of all things. The dude had to pause in between each word to chew. Claude wants to throw something, but he resists the temptation and closes his eyes, takes three deep breaths, and then reopens his eyes to stare at the man.

“Great.  _ Amazing _ . This suggestion may be totally out of left field, but what if you, just  _ maybe  _ don’t chew gum while you say it?” Claude says, exasperated.

The man huffs, spits his gum right out into Claude’s hand, and goes to unceremoniously sit down on the old couch. Claude’s pretty sure it was white at some point. Hilda stares at Claude and he can practically hear her telling him that this idea was stupid, as if he hasn’t already caught onto that fact yet.

“Okay, let’s try that again,” says Claude.

The man stands back up and begins to speak.

“It’s me, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd... the long-lost Crown Prince of Faerghus… you thought me dead, but here I am…”

Claude can’t even tell if this dude is displaying  _ too  _ much emotion or absolutely none at all. What he can tell, however, is that the man in front of him is an absolute lost cause. He gives said man a straight deadpan and blows at a strand of hair that usually dangles near his eye.

“What? You didn’t exactly hire an actor,” the man says, defensively, as he walks back to rejoin the  _ other _ two lost causes.

“Clearly not,” says Hilda, rolling her eyes.

The first one (who had shed so many crocodile tears during his ‘audition’ that Claude had started getting concerned for the man) stands up, placing his hands on his hips.

“This is against the law anyway! Impersonating a royal? A dead one nonetheless? To extract money from someone? We could report you and this little idea of yours to the Adrestian officials, y’know,” the man threatens.

The other two look at him and nod along.

“You won’t though,” Claude says.

“Why shouldn’t we? This was a waste of our time, not to mention our money!” the first auditionee exclaims.

Claude just flashes them a grin. He then proceeds to mimic the gesture of pouring something into a drink, sipping it, and then falling over backward. It’s not an entirely empty threat. He’s one-hundred-percent willing to slip some poison into their food if they end up reporting him to the Adrestian officials. Just with  _ mild _ stomach poison. He isn’t going to murder anyone.

The men sneer at him, before turning on their heels and walking out of the theatre, brushing past the ancient current that looks like it’s on the verge of disintegrating into a million pieces.

Hilda pats him on the back. He just wants her to end his pitiful existence. 

“You tried,” she offers. 

Claude groans. “Clearly not hard enough. How are we going to get ourselves a Dimitri now?” 

“Just give it some time,” Hilda soothes. “Claude, if there’s anyone who can pull of a scheme like this, it’s you.”

He doesn’t even argue about the time part, despite how much they both know that there isn’t that much left.

“Hey, don’t leave yourself out,” Claude says. “I wouldn’t be anywhere without you.”

Claude pulls out the music box he bought yesterday and fiddles with it. He still hasn’t figured out how in the hell it opens. Seriously, it’s a music box, how is it  _ that _ hard to open? As he twists it this way and that, he lets his mind wander. He had met Hilda when he started school in the Leicester Alliance. He was, or rather is, a master of hiding who he is behind his cunningness and charming smile. People constantly seemed to pressure Claude to open up about his childhood, his parents, where he lived before the Leicester Alliance, and whatever else they could come up with.

It had never felt that way with Hilda. Somehow, the two ended up sharing a large majority of their classes together. Despite her notorious laziness, they had become fast friends. Claude wasn’t sure what had clicked. Maybe it was their cunningness or fate (not that he lets that kind of stuff control his life), but something had just fallen into place. They’d been inseparable ever since.

“You’re going to break that if you’re not careful with it,” Hilda scolds, snatching it out of his hands and placing it on a small circular table nearby. 

“I can’t get it open,” he complains.

“It’s probably a fake then,” she sighs. “Figures.”

  
“How would you know?”

“Claude. I make jewelry and stuff like this. I know what I’m talking about.”

“Whatever you say, Hilda.”

It’s at that moment someone knocks on the stage door. Hilda and Claude exchange a panicked look. They had asked some acquaintances to spread the word to get some more people to come audition. But those “acquaintances” could have just gone and ratted them out to Adrestian officials or those “actors” from before had gone and run their mouths after all. Hopefully he can figure out a way to poison someone from prison.

“Shit. Shit shit shit,” Claude whispers frantically. “Someone snitched.”

  
“Shut up,” Hilda hisses as she drapes a blanket over the couch and climbs underneath. “Hide!”

Claude, unable to fit underneath the couch with her, curls up behind a large trunk that smells of mildew and death. It takes all his willpower not to gag. 

_ We are  _ so  _ going to get thrown in jail _ , he thinks.

The door creaks open, followed shortly by approaching footsteps. Claude tries to be as quiet as he can as he shifts his body and peers up to see if he can find whoever is about to turn them in. A lone, blue eye peers back down at him.

“What the hell?!” says Claude, startled.

“Um. Hello there? I’m looking for a Claude von Riegan?”

Claude nearly panics at the mention of his full name. Before he makes the executive decision to run for it, however, he examines the person. Blonde, blue-eyed, tall, and bandages wrapped over half his face. Probably not an Adrestian official, judged by the simple way he’s dressed.

“That would be me,” Claude says, cautiously. His response prompts Hilda to poke her head out of where she’s hiding. “What do you need?’

The man seems to take a moment or so to gather his thoughts, and in the meantime, Hilda has fully emerged from under the couch. “I’m seeking exit papers to leave the… Dukedom,” he begins. “I heard you could help.”

_ Seriously? _ Claude thinks, exasperated.  _ I don’t just hand out exit papers. _

“Okay, yeah, sure. Right. Exit papers don’t exactly grow on trees,” Claude starts. “You know that, right?”

“I have a little money from savings,” says the man.

Claude massages his temples as he takes a seat. “‘A little’ won’t get you very far.”

The man shakes his head, almost desperately. 

“I work hard. Please, lend me your assistance.”

“Work hard as what, exactly?” Hilda chimes in.

“A street sweeper, currently.”

“ _ A street sweeper _ ? Okay, so when you said ‘a little money’ what you actually meant was ‘no money.’” Claude says. He feels a little bad about that one. 

The man seems to be getting increasingly distressed as they continue to shoot him down.

“I have worked near Arianrhod, washing dishes. In a hospital near House Rowe, before that,” he says. “Please, you must believe me--”

“Whoa, hold on there. House Rowe? That’s quite a long way off,” Claude says, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes, I know that,” the man retorts. “I walked from there to here.”

“You walked it!?” exclaims Hilda.

“That’s what I just said, yes,” he says. “I had no other options.”

_ Okay _ , Claude thinks.  _ Something is off about this _ .

“What are you… running from?” asks Claude.

The man shakes his head. “I’m not running  _ away _ from anyone. I’m… looking for someone. I need to go somewhere, out east.” 

“Well, be my guest and jump the border. It’s easier than getting papers,” Claude says. “Just don’t blame us if you get shot or thrown in prison for the rest of your life.”

Hilda snorts and the man clenches his fist. His eye stares downwards, seemingly going in and out of focus.

“I’m not stupid, nor am I crazy,” he says after a moment or so. “Why will you not help me?”

“Well… you’re not exactly the person we need,” says Hilda.

“And who  _ do _ you need?”

Claude exchanges a look with Hilda.

“Someone who probably isn’t even real, for all we know.” 

A few moments pass, and Claude realizes that the man is taking in his surroundings. Sure, it’s a palace, but a mold-filled, rat-infested one at that. There’s some foreign emotion in his expression, one that Claude can’t quite place his finger on.

“You alright there?” asks Claude.

The man looks up in surprise, clearly startled by being broken out of his thoughts. 

  
“It’s just… I’ve been here before, I think,” he says, that strange, unidentifiable emotion present in his voice. “For a play?”

“Well, it’s a theatre. That’s what they’re for,” Claude says. “The one in the former palace of the Blaiddyd’s, to be exact. It was pretty famous. Nowadays there’s nothing showing here unless you fancy watching spiders spin webs or something like that.”

The man doesn’t even seem to hear what he said. “I remember… people. Friends? They were nice…”

“Hello? Earth to whatever-your-name-is?” Hilda says, waving a hand into the dude’s face. When she receives no response, she asks, “Is he okay?”

_ What is even going on _ , Claude thinks. “He’s delusional or something. I don’t know!”

The dude is swaying dangerously on his feet. “I remember… music, and laughter…”

“Get him to sit down before he falls over!” exclaims Hilda.

It takes both their efforts combined to push him to sit down on the old couch. For someone who looks like they’re about to pass out he is remarkably strong. 

“Are you okay? Do you need food? Water?” Hilda tries again, to no avail. “Claude! Get him something before we have a dead body on our hands!” 

Claude stares at her incredulously.

“Go!”

He exits the room at Hilda’s command. Always making him do all the work, huh?

* * *

Hilda stares at the man sitting on the most disgusting couch she’s ever seen in her life. She slowly places a hand on his shoulder and it seems to do the trick, to her surprise. He flinches hard and she quickly removes her hand. Then, his eye unclouds and he blinks slowly as if he just awoke from a deep sleep. He turns to her.

“Oh… I apologize,” he says, slowly. “Thank you, for your kindness in particular.”

Hilda picks up on the unspoken “ _ unlike your friend _ .”

“Well, you’re welcome, I guess,” she says. “Don’t be too hard on Claude, we can’t help but be skeptical of complete strangers asking for our help. We’ve fallen on hard times as of late”

The man stares at her. “Who hasn’t?”

_ It’s true, _ Hilda thinks. Before she can respond, Claude comes back with some stale bread they had from a few weeks ago (maybe if Claude hadn’t handed over their last two cans of beans, they wouldn’t need to eat the disgusting bread) and a glass of water, which looks relatively safe to drink. 

She watches the man eat, and in her heart, she feels like there’s something special about this one.

“Claude, maybe we should give him a chance,” she says.

Claude looks to her, surprise written all over his face. He opens his mouth to say something, probably in protest, but Hilda makes sure to send him a look. He sighs, giving up on whatever he was about to say. Hilda turns to the man.

“I’m Hilda,” she offers. “And your name…?”

“I don’t really know, actually,” says the man.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asks Claude. The topic has piqued his curiosity.

“Well, at the hospital they gave me the name ‘Dima,’ or ‘ _ Dimochka _ ’ as the nurses liked to say. I don’t know what my real name is… I was told that I have amnesia,” he answers. “Even now… after all this time, I don’t remember much.”

“Is there anything you do remember?” 

Dima’s eye glazes over and the foreign emotion from earlier reappears. Claude panics for a second, thinking that he’s going to start losing consciousness again. But instead, Dima shakes his head, snapping himself out of it. His eye is clear, but the emotion still lingers heavily in his expression.

“Well, I remember some things…”

He tells them about waking up in the hospital. How the nurses said he was found, bloodied and near frozen to death in the snow. How he had woken with no name or memories or possessions. How they gave him a name. How he had traveled from Rowe territory to here, working as much as he could, sleeping in the woods and on the streets.

He tells them that when he dreams, he hears screams and wakes with the taste of soot in his mouth. Yet… he also dreams of friends he can’t remember having and an uncle who is not really his uncle. Of spending the summer months slightly east of Fhirdiad and how he remembers someone telling him to go there.

Dima turns his head towards Claude, bitterness in his eye.

  
“You don’t understand. Any of it. How it feels to not know who you are,” he says, coldly. “To be chasing after the words you hear when you sleep at night. That’s all I have. I want to find out who I am. Make fun of me all you wish, but I know that there’s someone waiting for me out east. I’m willing to do what it takes to get there.”

Something in Claude seems to awaken. Hilda knows that look that currently is in his eyes, he’s weighing his options.

  
“Weeeeell, Hilda and I just so happen to be going to pay a visit to someone in Fraldarius territory, too,” he says, flashing that charming smile of his. “I suppose we can help you out.”

* * *

Edelgard sighs, sitting at her desk. People move quickly across the office, filing papers, making calls, and writing reports. A tall man walks briskly up to her, an expression of disdain on his face.

“Hubert,” she smiles. “Anything that needs my attention?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Hubert says, turning to signal three men behind him to enter. “Another report concerning the Blaiddyd’s.”

Edelgard lets out yet another sigh. This is far from the first time that she’s had people come into her office, reporting sightings of the dead prince or whatever it may be.

“Well then,” she says, looking towards the three men. “Go on. We take these matters very seriously.”

* * *

“I’m telling you, the man was  _ hardly _ a Blaiddyd. I could be a more convincing Prince Dimitri than that street sweeper could!” exclaims one of them.

“His name was Dima,” another one tells her.

It’s as Edelgard had expected. More gossip. Another pretender.

“Thank you,” she says flatly.

They all stare at her.

“Well, are you going to do something?” asks the third man.

“I’ve listened to your gossip. I will do  _ my _ job how  _ I  _ see fit. Now go.”

The men exchange a look, clearly offended by her dismissal, before turning around.

“And do refrain from wasting my time with gossip of all things. If it happens again, there  _ will _ be consequences,” Edelgard warns, head tilting towards Hubert, who has a small smirk on his face.

They turn on their heels and quickly flee.

She sighs, as Hubert nods his head to her as he leaves the office. Another person who finds joy in pretending to be a dead man. For her, that just means another report to file and another person to detain.

When will these people accept the fact that the Prince is dead?

* * *

They had spent the next day clearing out a fairly spacious room inside the Blaiddyd palace. Claude had found a large chalkboard in another room and had Dima help drag it in. He’d also purchased a book about the history of the Blaiddyd family while looking for their food for the next week. Hilda had scolded him for it, but neither of them are experts when it comes to the Kingdom’s (former) royalty, so it was a necessary purchase, thank you very much. They’re rolling with the whole amnesia thing. It’s the perfect excuse as to why the supposed Crown Prince won’t remember everything with perfect clarity. But they still need to teach him who he was.

Now, Dima is staring at them, an unspoken question in his eye. Claude clears his throat and gestures towards the chalkboard. 

“Well,” he starts. “I hope you’re ready to become the Crown Prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.”

Dima crosses his arms and scowls at him.

“I’m ready to find out who I really am, not to  _ lie _ about being someone I’m not,” he protests.

Claude throws his arms up in the air as a sign of peace. “Hey now, it’s not a lie,” he says (it is). “We’re going to help you find the truth, too. But one thing at a time!”

Dima sighs, not protesting further, but there's still doubt and skepticism in his eye.

“Lord Fraldarius was best friends with King Lambert. If he recognizes you as his friend’s son, Hilda and I get will get rich and boom!” Claude says. “Happily ever after, the end.”

“That’s if he doesn’t see right through me.” 

“And if that happens, then oops! Our mistake. We just  _ thought  _ you were Dimitri and were doing our duty by bringing you to him. No problem, right?”

Deep down Claude knows that’s a problem. They’re probably going to end up using all their funds just getting the necessary papers and tickets to cross the border. The price keeps going up as borders are closed off to those wanting to leave the Dukedom. Even if they get out and don’t get paid, they’ll have no means of actually finding a place to live nor will they have food to eat. Dima is still staring at him skeptically and Claude knows that he’s going to have to reassure him somehow, or this plan is going to get stuck again.

“Also,” he adds quickly. “You’ll be where you want to be and so will we, so, it’ll be fine.”

A moment of silence as a myriad of emotions passes through Dima’s eye. He looks up, somewhat resolved, and clears his throat.

“Where do I start?” he asks.

“Well,” Hilda starts. “What can you do?”

“...Sweep streets?”

_ We’ve got a lot of work to do _ , Claude thinks.

* * *

It’s a learning experience for all three of them. Claude’s never really learned a lot of fancy noble dances or etiquette. Hilda has at some point, but Claude doubts she cared for it that much. She’s the type to not show up for those lessons, no matter how much she’s pushed.

They teach Dima how he--Dimitri--was born in the brunt of the winter season and how the Kingdom had doted on the new member of the royal family who was already strong enough to tear limbs off of his stuffed animals.

They tell him about his father, King Lambert and his uncle, Rufus. About the Lady Cornelia who had brought the cure to the horrible sickness that spread shortly after his birth and the King’s first wife, his mother, who had been killed by said sickness. About Lady Patricia, who had come from Imperial lands and whom the King had fallen in love with.

They find out about a story about how the Crown Prince had given a young girl a dagger as a gift once. The people of Fhirdiad seem to all know this story and treat it as if it’s some sort of inside joke.

They teach him of Lord Fraldarius, who used to take him on long horseback rides each morning when he was young. There were also Lord Fraldarius’ sons. The older one, a knight that younger one was always admiring. Apparently, the younger one was known for being a crybaby in his youth. There’s the daughter of Count Galatea who was the elder’s fiancee and the son of Margrave Gautier who was known as a public menace to all the working ladies at the palace.

Currently, Claude and Hilda are trying to teach him etiquette. How to properly eat meals, dance a waltz, and--

“Head up. You’re a prince now, not a street sweeper!” Hilda calls out.

Dima walks, trying his best to hold his head up and walk with confidence and eloquence. Instead, it looks rather awkward and stiff. He shakes his head, sheepishly.

“I apologize,” Dima says. “I’m not very good at this.”

“That’s why you’re learning,” Hilda reassures. “Stand up straight! Shoulders high. Higher!”

It takes a good half-hour, but Dima gets the hang of it to the point where he no longer looks like a giraffe on ice. Most of it is Dima following Hilda’s example like a baby duckling. They spend even more time teaching him how to bow properly. Claude tries some of it, too, and even Dima laughs at him. That one hurts.

Dima bows near-perfectly after only the third try. It comes as a surprise to all of them. 

_ Either he’s learning remarkably fast, _ Claude muses.  _ Or he’s done this before. _

Dining etiquette comes next. Claude’s glad they have so much spare silverware in the abandoned palace because there’s a pile of bent or just straight-up  _ broken _ cutlery that’s slowly growing. Hilda has to keep chiding him about placing his elbows on the table. 

It’s lesson after lesson, text after text, question after question. Another family member, another way to dance, another method of greeting someone.

Claude knows they’re probably tiring Dima out, but they have to hurry. 

“Can we take a break after this one?” Dima asks, tiredly.

“When you stop breaking the silverware, maybe,” answers Claude.

Dima sighs. They do eventually end the table etiquette lesson, deciding to just make sure he practices not bending his fork when he uses it to keep the meat steady while he cuts it.

* * *

Now they’re sitting in front of the chalkboard which has a bunch of names of the royal family written all over it.

“Your uncle?”

  
“Grand Duke Rufus Blaiddyd of Itha.”

“Stepmother?”

  
“Patricia von Arundel, of the Empire.”

“Best friend?”

“I had three--”

“Wrong,” Claude interrupts. “It’s--”

Dima’s glare cuts him off. There’s something that was so… sure in his voice when he said who his best friend (or friends) was (or were) that Claude doesn’t want to protest further.

“I want a break. You’re working me to the bone,” Dima protests. “You nitpick every little thing I do.”

Hilda and Claude look worriedly at each other. They need Dima to be  _ willing _ . The fact that these lessons are taking place in between his work shifts aren’t helping, but they also need the money from his job.

Hilda walks over to Dima and reaches up to place a hand on his shoulder. He flinches but seems to relax after a second or so. 

“I know it’s hard,” she says. “Trust me, I hate this kind of stuff! Working  _ sucks _ and all these lessons are super boring. But if we don’t do this, we’re going to be stuck here. If it’s any comfort, I wouldn’t mind a few more breaks.”

She looks at Claude when she says that.

“Sure,” he relents. “But we still have this lesson to complete, so let’s start again if you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” Dima says. They begin an in-depth lesson on his stepmother. As Hilda explains the personality of the Queen Consort and how little of her interests were privy to the people of Faerghus, Dima nods his head along, eyebrows furrowed.

“I recall that she liked to sew?” he interrupts.

_ That wasn’t something we taught him _ , Claude thinks, surprised.  _ Or was it? Ugh. _

* * *

All three of them are dancing together. Claude is trying his best not to be horrible at it. He’s never really had to dance any Fodlan dances before. They’re very different from what he knew growing up, much more stiff and formal.

He steps on Hilda’s foot, who retaliates by stepping on his foot, too. Just as he’s about to get revenge, Dima also steps on his foot. There’s a smug grin on his face, and soon enough they’re all trying to step on each other’s feet. Claude and Dima both forget their awkwardness and it’s just the three of them dancing, no scheme or plot or pretending to be a long lost Prince.

Suddenly, Hilda laughs and backs off a bit, and then it’s just him and Dima dancing. Claude looks into Dima’s eye. Neither of them tries to step on the other’s toes.

He hears his heart beating in his chest. 

Then Hilda’s back, a gleam in her eye and a smug smile on her face. The three of them dance together for what feels like hours and it all feels  _ right _ .

* * *

Soon enough, Dima is well-versed enough to spout back facts to them at a fast pace. He’s gotten the hang of dancing, somewhat. He’s still a little clumsy, but he passes. He’s able to cut his meat without breaking or bending something most of the time. 

Dima is currently sitting alone at the makeshift desk they had set up, reading over the textbook once more, even though he doesn’t really need to at this point.

_ Born during the worst blizzard of the season,  _ he reads. Something stirs within, but Dima can’t name whatever it is. There’s a missing thread somewhere. But he’s getting closer, he knows it.

* * *

_ “I’ve seen flashes of fire _

_ Heard the echo of screams _

_ But I still have this faith _

_ In the truth of my dreams” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the longer chapter. This one covered from “In My Dreams” to “Learn to Do It.”  
“In My Dreams” is the classic “I want” song. Literally the same chord progression as “Santa Fe” from Newsies, but it’s an amnesiac Russian girl singing. Also, sorry for talking about musical stuff so much but if there’s a musical theatre song for Claude and Hilda it’s “Partners in Crime” from Tuck Everlasting the Musical. I don’t know if you can tell by now but I’m a theatre kid through and through lol.
> 
> I used the name “Dima,” since, well, it’s basically the “Anya” of “Anastasia” but for “Dimitri” instead, except it’s way more on the nose (and not really a name). Oh well. I didn’t want to stray too far from FE3H so I refrained from picking out a totally different name. “Dimochka” is just like a Russian way of saying it and I find Russian to be pretty cool so I referenced that a bit.
> 
> I don't think I'll be able to update daily (if at all) during the weekdays because of school. If not, then I'll see you for the next chapter on the weekend ;)


	4. A Proud and Vital Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard and Dima reunite. Claude and Dima hang out on the street for awhile. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: A character has a panic attack in this chapter. 
> 
> Starts at "Hey, what's wrong?" and ends at "He snaps the music box shut."
> 
> Read with caution!!

_ White. Swirling around him, chilling him to the bone. The blanket of frost surrounds him as the wind keeps picking up, the snowflakes getting closer together with every second. The gentle touch of snow turns into a stinging pain. The roar of the wind in his ears makes him dizzy. He can’t move, not to sit up nor to roll over onto his side. _

_ Yet, even through the squall, he can faintly make out the sound of screams carried by the wind. _

_ The unearthly howls get louder, snow turns to ash, and it’s then that he realizes that the one screaming is him. _

_ He screams louder._

* * *

_ Tap. Tap. Tap. _

The sound of her pen hitting her knuckles is keeping her from throwing the phone across the room.

_ I truly hate this job_, Edelgard thinks, gaze fixed on the city outside her office window.

“I’m telling you, things are going _ fine_,” she says into the phone. “The people are losing the will to protest, especially in the winter months... It’s all under control… Thank you, and goodbye.”

Edelgard has had this call a million times at this point. Nobles from the Empire who call in to question what she’s doing in the Dukedom. Many of them doubt her ability to solidify the area’s stability due to the protests and uprisings after the royal family had been killed. Edelgard understands, truly, she does, but she’d like to see one of these egotistical aristocrats try to do her job better than she does.

She’s taken out of her musing by the door to her office opening. She doesn’t turn around, but she has no need to when she knows that the person who has entered is Hubert.

“I’ve found our latest faux-prince,” Hubert says. Even though she cannot see him, Edelgard knows there is a smirk on his face.

“Good. Thank you, Hubert,” she says, sincerely. He makes her job so much easier.

More footsteps follow, but she keeps her back to the door and her gaze on the window. It’s a bit embarrassing, but she’d already planned out what she was going to say to this person in her head.

“Fhirdiad is a lovely city,” Edelgard starts. “So many people dwell here and work hard for their futures, for their families. It’s a shame that not everyone here wishes to work hard for the betterment of this society. But, alas, I suppose my job would be rather mundane if I didn’t have to deal with troublemakers. Funny how some, such as yourself, I assume, think they can get away with standing in the way of the Dukedom’s future.”

Edelgard turns, eyes widening as she sees the person who has been brought in. It’s _ him._ The street sweeper. He looks visibly confused and uncomfortable, accompanied by a guard at each side. She’s sure that he could probably get out of their grasp on his arms if he wanted to. Easily, in fact. But he doesn’t seem to resist, which is fine by her. She waves to dismiss the guards, but Hubert slithers back to watch the conversation unfold from the shadow of the doorway. 

“It’s you,” Edelgard notes.

“...Why was I brought here?”

“I’m sure you already know. It’s quite a shame, really. You are doing honest, hard work. You have no need to be impersonating royalty,” Edelgard says. “I never stopped looking for you out on the streets. You never took me up on my offer.”

The man looks… well. She squints down at her report again, making out the name. _ Dima_. He still has those bandages covering his right side of his face, but they look recently changed.

Edelgard tries to make herself look less intimidating. “Your name is Dima, right?”

She doesn’t really need to ask, but it’s polite. He nods his head. Edelgard holds out a hand.

“My name is Edelgard von Hresvelg. I work here, bettering the Dukedom and its people,” she offers. He doesn’t take her hand. Time for a different approach. “I’m sorry if this is a little… confusing. But trust me, there’s no need to be nervous, truly! Have a seat, I promise I don’t bite.”

Edelgard catches the faintest smile on Dima’s lips. Some kind of emotion flickers in his pale eye, but it’s gone as quick as it came. He takes her hand and shakes it. Before they let go, she discerns that he is trembling, faintly.

“Oh! You’re shivering…” she points out. “About tea--”

“What is the charge?” Dima cuts her off as he sits down on one of the chairs.

“None,” Edelgard says, waving her hand dismissively. “I don’t find myself fond of charging hard-working people who are trying to make a living.” 

“Oh… Thank you…?”

“But I must warn you. This childish game of pretend you’re playing has to end.”

His expression twists into a considerably colder one. “What are you talking about?”

“Pretending to be the prince. If you are who you are so childishly playing the part of, you’ll be dead soon enough. The Empire isn’t very inclined to leave a job left unfinished,” warns Edelgard. She hopes he will heed it.

“I don’t see any harm in it. Everyone wants to be someone else… I don’t see this problem you so blatantly speak of,” he says.

“Dima. If you wish to keep your little ruse up, they’ll leave you with a _ hole in your head_,” cautions Edelgard. “The Blaiddyd’s are gone. The Empire made sure of that. My mother… she was there herself.”

Dima’s eye widens, breath quickening. He jolts rather hard and starts to stand. “I don’t want to hear this, please.”

“She did what she had to, my mother…”

“Please…” he says desperately, but seems to lose the will to run away, sitting down again. Edelgard can’t tell if she’s imagining things, but it seems like Dima is shaking harder.

“The people of Fhirdiad like to spin their stories. I hear them each time I go out on the streets. Whispers of a prince that was left alive, the only piece of the Blaiddyd’s that remains. They act as if I don’t hear them. But I’ve met plenty claiming to be Prince Dimitri. It often doesn’t end well for them. If they’re lucky, they’re thrown in prison.”

She doesn’t mention the unlucky ones.

“It’s rather foolish,” Edelgard continues. “I was there that day on account of my uncle. My mother, I hadn’t seen her for years. She was staying in the palace. But that morning, my uncle took my hand and led me to the window…”

* * *

_ “Edelgard, look,” Arundel says, gesturing to the world outside her window. Edelgard jerks her hand away, then draws her gaze to the window. Smoke billows high above the center of the city. If she’s correct, that’s the royal palace. _

_ “What in the world is happening there?” she questions coldly. _

_ Arundel smiles, his similarly violet eyes take on a dark, yet delighted look. _

_ “Your mother has done her job.” _

_ Edelgard wants to claw her uncle’s eyes out of his skull, but instead, she unlatches the window and pushes it open. The palace must be closer than she thought, because she has to cover her mouth to keep from coughing. _

_ … But through the smoke and gunshots, she hears them. She hears their screams. _

_ She hears the silence that comes after. _

_ She shuts the window. _

* * *

“I don’t know what my mother’s fate was. I never saw her again. I suppose she may be dead,” Edelgard murmurs. “But my uncle told me that she was ‘serving her country.’ I thought him daft at the time. But now, perhaps he was right, looking at the Dukedom.”

She hears the wooden armrest of the chair Dima is sitting in crack, but she continues.

“There is no place for the Blaiddyd’s here. What has been done was done for the people,” Edelgard says, trying hard to keep her voice laced with confidence. She looks off to the side. “But if it was me--If I was the one holding the gun--could I have pulled the trigger?”

Edelgard shakes her head, chasing away those childish thoughts. “It’s no use dwelling on such things. But I hope you understand what your little fantasy of being a prince will bring.”

Dima stands up, walking over to her. 

“Thank you for the warning,” he says.

She stares at him. That eye… it’s so familiar. That of someone she knew, long ago. Edelgard must have made him nervous, because he quickly adds, “I’m late to work. I’m sorry, but I must go.”

“Farewell, Dima,” she says, catching his arm as he turns to leave. “Be careful. _ Very _ careful.”

Edelgard’s uncle had taken her to the palace once the fire was put out. It had been harsh, damaging many rooms adjacent to the ballroom with smoke, but the rest of it was mostly untouched aside from bullet holes or broken glass. She’d seen the hole in King Lambert’s head, brain matter splattered on the intricate design of the floor. She had stepped over the burnt, broken bodies of soldiers, maids, cooks, and guards. Yet there were two she never laid eyes upon.

* * *

The sun has set on the land of Faerghus. The people of Fhirdiad have drawn their currents and tucked their children into bed. The streets are relatively quiet, aside from, well--

“Claude. They know. Her name, it was Edelgard,” Dima hisses to him, eye wide with panic.

Claude stops walking abruptly. Not because of what Dima said, but because of the three men in front of them, illuminated by the faint glow of a nearby burn barrel.

“Claude! Looooong time no see,” one of them slurs. They’re drunk. 

  
“Claude?” Dima murmurs. If Claude was tall enough, he’d probably stand in front of Dima. But there’s really no point, is there? Not when Dima is _ at least _ a head taller.

“Thought you were in Fraldarius by now,” another one sneers drunkenly.

_ Great_, Claudes thinks. _ Just what I needed. _

“Didja ditch Miss Goneril? Or wait. Did she ditch you?” says the third one, venom lacing his voice. 

“Looks like he got ‘imself a replacement,” snickers the first one, gesturing at Dima.

“Whoa,” Claude says. _ I wish. Wait no, stop-- _, “It’s not like that.”

Sure, he’s into both men and women. It’s not a huge secret, but he still doesn’t like what they’re implying.

“Looks like Prince Dimitri with that gold hair,” one man drawls. “Ya think Claude bows for ‘im? I betcha he does!” 

His cronies let out a raucous laugh. Claude just glares as he grabs Dima’s arm and turns to get out of there, but is stopped when one of the men stands directly in their path.

“Awww, Claudey boy. Why don'tcha invite us alonnnnng?”

“Come on, Claude. Just like ol’ times!” 

Claude rolls his eyes. He’d known them back when he’d first arrived in Fhirdiad, before things had gone to complete shit. And he’d stopped hanging around them for a reason. He’s drawn out of his thoughts by a tug on his wrist.

“Claude, let’s go,” says Dima, the distaste evident in his tone.

“Too good for us, _ princess _?” one of them jeers. “How ‘bout a dance?”

Suddenly Claude is being torn from Dima by one of the men. He’s not too worried about Dima, even if these men think he is. It’s _ Dima_. He’d seen him snap a knife in half _on accident_. But he really doesn’t like being manhandled and he especially doesn’t like the smell of this man’s breath on his neck. The other men seem to think they’ve got Dima cornered by the burn barrel, but Dima twists, reaching backward and grabbing the stick sitting in the barrel. Then he swings.

It connects with one of the men’s noses with a sickening _ crack_. Claude’s not a sadist, but it’s kind of hot. The other man cornering Dima tries to slink into his blind spot, but Dima lifts the stick again, swinging it with the skill of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. The second dude howls in pain and scampers off, metaphorical tail between his legs. Claude turns around and kicks the dude behind him straight in the ribs. He falls backward, hitting his head on the curb. 

_ Ouch_, Claude thinks smugly.

He turns to Dima and lifts an eyebrow, impressed. “So, where’d you learn to hit dudes with a stick like _ that _?” 

Claude gestures to the first man, who is swearing as he clutches his broken nose in an effort to keep the blood from gushing out. It’s no use as it just drips down his wrists. Dima smirks at Claude’s praise, then turns to the man and lifts the stick again. In the blink of an eye, the dude has scurried over to his friend, grabs his legs, and drags him away, leaving a trail of blood behind.

Claude has to physically pull Dima backward to keep him from making sure those men don’t forget what it feels like to get totally humiliated. There’s something slightly wild in his blue eye, but all things considered, Claude can’t really blame him.

  
“Let’s chill out. You completely wiped the floor with them and I’m sure they’ll remember it for a long time,” Claude says, patting Dima on the back.

Dima rolls his eye but relaxes considerably, dropping his makeshift weapon of choice. “To answer your question, it came naturally to me. But even if it hadn’t… you can’t simply walk across the Kingdom--er, Dukedom--without knowing how to break a rat’s nose... You’ve got it easy.”

_ Ha, I wish,_ Claude thinks. He sits down on a nearby bench, ignoring how cold the stone he sits on is. He pats on the open spot beside him and Dima comes over to sit down.

“Not really, actually. I’m not… from around here,” Claude starts. “My mother renounced her family name and eloped with my father. He wasn’t from Fodlan. Where I grew up, I got a lot of shit from people who thought my mere existence was offensive.”

Dima peers at him, curiosity filling his lone eye. “Oh? How’d you get here? To Fodlan, that is.”

Claude shrugs. “I came out to the Leicester Alliance for school. That’s where I met Hilda, actually. It was my second time in Fodlan, but that’s another story for a different time. I stayed with my grandfather for a while. He was super prickly about me inheriting the family name or whatever. He rejected me outright.”

Dima frowns. “I don’t see any honor in rejecting someone because of where they’re from.”

“Yeah, but unfortunately the world isn’t filled with people that think like that. I had a handful of friends in school, but Hilda was real special. She never really cared about where I was from. So, after we graduated, I didn’t want to go back home, but I didn’t want to stay with my grandfather. So I left with Hilda and went to the Kingdom.”

Dima is listening intently and Claude likes nothing if not a person who won’t judge him for something so mundane like his heritage. He doesn’t tell this story much, but...

“Growing up wasn’t easy for me. I wasn’t physically strong or intimidating and I definitely wasn’t great at sticking up for myself. So, instead I came up with schemes. I remember one time, a merchant had yelled at me for going near his cart. Called me some pretty nasty names. So I coated some of the food he was selling with some mild stomach poison. Needless to say, he lost business quick.”

That makes Dima smile. Not a laugh, but Claude will take what he can get. They stay silent for a couple of moments as Dima seems to ponder his words. “Your parents never did anything?”

“Ha, no way. They were on some spiel about how ‘Claude needs to learn to defend himself,’ or whatever. So I did. In my own special way,” Claude tells him. “Feels like I should hate my birthplace, huh? But I don’t. I never did. I loved that place, but I wanted to see a world where kids like me don’t get rejected by their homes. I still do. It’s a rather big dream of mine.”

“Well, I think it’s a nice dream.”

Claude stands up and stretches his arms out above his head. He offers his hand to Dima. “Say, if this whole Prince Dimitri thing actually works, wanna help me out with that dream of mine?”

“I think I’d like that,” says Dima, taking his hand with a smile. It takes a lot of effort but Claude manages to not look like an idiot when he pulls Dima up. 

_ My grandfather’s probably dead by now_, Claude realizes suddenly.

  
“Oh, my condolences…?” Dima says hesitantly. 

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” Claude sighs, rubbing his temple. “Oh well. But yeah, I’m not exactly going to weep over it. Never was close to him.”

“I guess we both don’t have a family around here,” muses Dima.

“Guess so,” Claude agrees. “Oh! I know. How about you tell me about the dog? The big fluffy one?”

“Oh. I think its name was Areadbhar?”

“Yeah?”

“Whenever I fought with someone, she’d let me hug her tight. I loved her.”

Dima’s lone eye wavers, gazing right through Claude with a lost look on his face. His voice breaks as he speaks, and he seems to be swaying like he had when they’d first met. Claude carefully places his hand onto Dima’s shoulder.

“Keep on going,” Claude says, gently. “I’m listening.”

“I can’t. I...”

Claude decides not to force Dima to keep reliving whatever is going on inside his head. Something about this moment feels incredibly… soft. And sad. He withdraws his hand from Dima’s shoulder, instead reaching in his bag.

“Close your eyes. Uh, eye.”

“What?” Dima asks, turning to him.

“Just do it,” Dima does so. “Hold out your hands.”

Claude places the music box he’d bought into his hands. 

“Open,” Claude says. “It’s yours to keep.”

Dima’s eye opens slowly, staring down at the music box in his hands. 

“What is it?”

“A music box.”

“Oh… how beautiful.”

“It’s broken. Or fake. Won’t even open, the damned thing,” Claude scoffs.

Dima stares at it with almost childlike wonder. He seems nervous, which Claude realizes is probably because he’s afraid of breaking it. Then, he flips it over and with as much delicacy as someone like him can muster, he twists the bottom one, two, three times. The top pops open, revealing two figures in the middle which slowly start to spin as the sound of soft music fills their ears.

“What the--?!” Claude says in astonishment. “How’d you get it to open? I’ve been trying for weeks. Dima? Hey, what’s wrong?” 

* * *

_ The streets of Fhirdiad, Claude, _ everything _melts away. _

_ He’s staring up at a woman with dusty brown hair pulled up into a regal-looking bun. Her lavender eyes are filled with warmth as she sings faintly to him. But she’s not looking at him. Her gaze wanders away from the window and catches on something behind him briefly. He looks behind him and sees a young boy with blonde hair framing his soft face. _

_ That hair. _

_ The world spins and now he’s staring at the boy who is being held in a tall man’s arms. The man, who is the boy’s--his?--father is standing on a balcony, smiling gently as he speaks to the boy--him--stop it, stop it, stop it. _

_ Blonde and black and orange and the sound of children laughing and fighting and playing and--- _

_ That pale brown again, but not the woman from before, the one singing. The world is spinning again, so fast, and please, make it stop, it hurts, hurts, hurts. Voices speak into his ear as he presses his hands to the sides of his head, trying to drown them out. _

_ “You’re not doing it right, Dima!” _

_ “C’mon, we’re going to play Loog and Kyphon!” _

_ “A _ dagger_. Really?” _

_ “Is Glenn coming?” _

_ “You’re getting better at this.” _

_ He claws at his eyes and ears and cheeks because oh Goddess it hurts so much please make it stop please. The voices mix together until he can’t make out what they’re saying but it’s still so loud, too loud, please stop. _

_ “I’m so proud of you, Dimitri--” _

He snaps the music box shut from where it’s been dropped on the ground.

“Dima?”

His chest is heaving, he’s shaking, where is he? He doesn’t know where he is. He lets out a pathetic whimper. Someone is pulling his hands away from where they’re clawing his face. He registers tan skin and curly brown hair--Claude? Then suddenly he’s Dima and he’s back in Fhirdiad and Claude is there looking at him with worry in his green eyes. 

“When do we leave?” Dima asks frantically, voice still shaking, reaching into his pocket for the money he earned from work. “I’ve been working extra shifts. I know it’s not much…”

Claude stares at the scant amount of coins that are dropped into his hands.

“This won’t be enough. We… we aren’t even close,” says Claude. “I thought we’d be able to cross the border by now, but…” 

Dima feels vaguely sick. He needs to leave. He can’t be here any longer. Desperation seeps into his tone as he speaks, “Claude, what are you saying?”

Claude shakes his head, taking Dima’s hands in his and trying to press the money back into them. “Listen. I’m sure there’s someone else who can help you get out of here.”

“I don’t want your money,” says Dima, pulling his hands away before Claude can give it back.

“It’s _ your _ money!”

Their voices are getting louder now, more frustrated, more desperate.

“I trusted you!”

  
“I _ know _that, okay? I’m sorry!”

Dima knows this isn’t good. This can’t be where the whole thing falls apart. 

“I… I haven’t trusted you enough, I think. Uh. Close your eyes?”

  
Claude opens his mouth to retort, but stops as he registers Dima’s words. His eyes shut, gently placing the money into his bag as he does so. Dima reaches down into his pocket. A smaller one, hidden on the inside of his coat. 

“Hold your hands out,” Dima prompts. The whole thing is awfully reminiscent of when Claude gifted him the music box only a few minutes earlier. He carefully places his most well-kept secret into Claude’s hand. “Open your eyes…”

“A diamond!?” exclaims Claude. “What the hell, you had this the _ whole _ time?”

“A nurse found it sewn into my clothes. She kept it for me. If it had been anyone else, I’m sure they would have sold it off. I still don’t know why she didn’t. She told me to never tell anyone about it unless I had to. I suppose now was the time.”

“Why didn’t you say anything!?” Claude squawks.

“It was the only thing of value I had!” Dima retorts.

“And you think _ I _ won’t just take it?”

  
“Yes?”

Claude takes Dima’s hand and squeezes it in a moment of joy. Dima thinks feels his face heat up and he hopes he isn’t blushing, but before either of them can speak, they hear the sound of footsteps hitting the ground.

“There you two are! I’ve been searching _ everywhere_,” Hilda exclaims hurriedly. “The palace--they raided it. I got our stuff but if we go back there, we’re probably going to get shot.”

Hilda’s eyes meet where their hands are joined and lifts an eyebrow. But before she can comment on it, her eyes catch the object in Claude’s free hand.

“Is that--?” 

“Dima’s had it this _ whole time _!” Claude says, laughter bubbling up in his throat. He releases Dima’s hand.

“I didn’t trust either of you enough!” Dima says defensively. He’s obviously flustered, isn’t he?

“Totally fair. But, seriously! We can leave now!” Hilda exclaims, bouncing over to pull them both into a hug. Her arms don’t even come close to making it all the way around them, but it’s the thought that counts.

“There’s a train that leaves at midnight. If we can get everything together…” suggests Dima.

“We can get out of here!” Claude says. “Hilda, can you get the exit papers?” 

“Ugh, do I have to? Whatever. I suppose I do,” she says with a fond smile, rolling her eyes. She turns around, running off.

“I’ll get the money for the diamond,” says Claude, speaking excitedly, “Finally, we’re going to sleep in real beds and eat food that isn’t in a can or stale as hell.”

“I’m going to collect the money for the week that they still owe me,” Dima says. “Meet me back here at midnight.”

“Wait!” Claude exclaims, grabbing him by the hand before he can run off. “Those bandages are because of your eye, right? Take this. I _ may _have taken it from the costume area in the theatre.”

Claude places something into his hand, then turns around and runs off. Dima is left staring at his hand. In his palm is a black eyepatch. 

“Thank you!” Dima calls after him, but he has no way to tell if Claude heard.

* * *

_ “The palaces above _

_ The alleyways below _

_ Funny when a city _

_ Is all you know _

_ How even when you hate it _

_ Something in you loves it so _

_ That’s where I learned my stuff _

_ In some rough company _

_ There’s a boy growing up _

_ Who was me _

_ All I’ve been _

_ All I’ll be” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fellas. That's pretty gay.
> 
> Anyways I hope you enjoyed this chapter. No clue when the next one will be out because I’m going on vacation next weekend, but I’ll try to write when I have time. This story is moving fast! Hopefully not too fast though. 
> 
> I would want dimitri to break my nose too also i gotta run so bye
> 
> i published this without line breaks originally oops? fixed it now


	5. A (Totally Illegal) Lovely Getaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A train ride, a lot of feelings, and a lot of escalation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: the non-canonical character death does come into play for this chapter.
> 
> It's off-screen and not even explicitly said, but I thought I would mention it since it does happen.
> 
> Another warning for a character having a panic attack. It's not from their point of view, but it starts at "Claude breathes a sigh of relief before turning to look at Dima" and ends at “'We’ve got to go.'"
> 
> Read with caution.

Claude steps into the train station, dropping the only bag they had which Hilda had so kindly made him carry. Despite it being midnight, the station is relatively crowded. Men, women, and children all wait for the train, quietly murmuring among themselves. Bags are piled up all around the train station. Hilda, who is standing a few feet away spots him and walks over.

“Where’s—?” 

“Here, sorry,” Dima says, rushing over to them. He’s wearing the eyepatch Claude had given him from when they had parted earlier. Claude gives him a thumbs up and a wink and he’s pretty sure that the flush of pink on Dima’s face wasn’t caused by the journey to the station.

Hilda clears her throat. “This is cute and all, but are we ready to go?”

“Think so,” Claude answers, now just as flustered as Dima.

“Great!” Hilda says. “This train is for prominent families and the like, or so I’ve been told. Lots of people trying to flee the Empire, for one reason or another. That’s good news for us, at least. So, we’re traveling as members of the Mittelfrank Opera Company. They’re on tour and heading to Fraldarius next.”

“Hopefully they won’t ask us to sing,” Claude groans. Dima nods in agreement. Hilda smiles fondly and rolls her eyes before she hands them each a ticket. 

“If they do, you two just sit there and look pretty. I’ll pull your weight.”

They’re interrupted by a man who walks in front of them. He’s an older man who is about Dima’s height. His hair—a striking ginger color—is long and pulled back. He seems familiar to all three of them in one way or another, but they can’t be sure. 

The man looks over at them and clearly spots Dima. His eyes widen in surprise and… recognition? He drops his bags behind him and starts walking toward them. They all exchange panicked and puzzled looks, fearing an Imperial soldier who just heard everything they had said. 

Claude opens his mouth, prepared to question the man, when all of a sudden he drops down onto one knee before Dima, head bowed. Dima freezes where he is, standing straight as a stick and confusion plastered on his face. Claude quickly surveys their surroundings. People are staring right at them.

“May the Goddess’s blessing be with you,” the man says. Then, he gets up and walks off without another word.

“...That man,” Dima murmurs. His hair falls over his eye and Claude can’t tell what he’s thinking. Before Claude can ask if Dima recognized him or something, Hilda snaps her fingers.

“Oh! I’ve heard of him before. He was from a noble family, I think,” Hilda whispers. “He worked as a guard for the royal family. When _ you-know-what _ happened, he was spending time with his wife and child. It’s no wonder the Empire wants him gone.”

_ He kneeled for Dima _ , Claude wonders. _ What does that mean? _

Before he can think more of it, the train’s whistle blows, echoing throughout the station. The chatter from the various people that witnessed the man bowing for Dima dies down.

_ “Attention, please. The train departing from Fhirdiad to House Fraldarius will be departing from the station...” _

Claude tunes out the voice coming over the loudspeaker and picks up their only bag, ushering Dima and Hilda along with him. Men and women cry, blowing into handkerchiefs and whispering farewells to Fhirdiad as they board.

  
Claude can’t understand the sentiment. It’s probably nostalgia, not that he can relate. Though he can sympathize with having to leave one’s homeland. However, when he spares a glance towards Dima, he notices that he seems to have a similar expression like all the other people of Fhirdiad.

_ That’s odd, _ Claude thinks. _ I must be imagining things _.

* * *

Gilbert Pronislav—or rather, Gustave Dominic remembers the day the Blaiddyd’s died very well. It lingers on his conscious like an open wound that will not heal, soaking his skin in disgrace.

His Majesty had allowed him a generous amount of time to spend at home, as it was nearing the end of the year. He had just seen his daughter off to bed when he’d heard. His wife had called for him, telling him a messenger sent from the capital had come to see him. The man had been bleeding from an open wound on his shoulder, gasping for breath. He had been covered in ash and gore and the star-shaped symbol on his uniform was barely visible beneath the filth.

_ “The royal family has been slaughtered,” _ he said. _ “The Empire has control of Fhirdiad.” _

The world had stopped spinning that day. Gilbert had let shame wash over him, filling his every waking moment. He was supposed to be there, protecting them. Slowly, he stopped eating dinners with his wife and daughter. He loved them, that he was sure of. Whenever someone addressed him by the title “Baron,” he hung his head in shame. Soon enough, he had renounced his nobility and left home. Baron Gustave Dominic had become a dead man and Gilbert Pranislav was born. Now, he hasn’t seen his wife or daughter in years. 

Yet when he saw that man in the train station, Gilbert knew his old eyes didn’t deceive him. The blonde hair, the sharp blue eye. He may be getting on in age, but he didn’t forget all those years that were behind him. He’d been there, watching His Majesty as he lifted his young son into his arms, running a hand through identical blonde locks. The same blonde that he had seen at the train station.

He kneels before His Highness, but can’t find it in himself to say more than a blessing. He wishes deeply to apologize, but he can’t come up with the words to do so. Gilbert hesitates to get up, but he finds the strength in his heart to leave His Highness in the care of the man and woman accompanying him.

Maybe, just maybe, there’s hope left after all.

* * *

They board onto a fairly small train car with a few other people. It’s pretty cramped, and Hilda refuses to take the window seat because she’ll be squished by the two of them. So Dima sits by the window, Claude reluctantly takes the middle, and Hilda claims the aisle. It’s a tight fit, but they manage.

“So... ‘first-class,’ huh?” Claude teases, raising an eyebrow in Hilda’s direction.

“Oh, shush. At least we have seats,” Hilda retorts. “Plus, the Empire isn’t really in love with pampering nobles. _ Especially _Kingdom ones.”

The train’s whistle sounds, warning the passengers that it’s about to leave the station. A broad-shouldered man makes his way down the aisle and seems to decide that the perfect place to sit is right next to Hilda, causing the three of them to squeeze even tighter. Claude is _ very _ aware of how close he is to Dima.

The man lights a cigar, which sends a cloud of smoke straight into all three of their faces whenever the man exhales. Claude and Hilda make a big gesture of coughing and after Claude elbows him, Dima hesitantly coughs along too.

“Who do you think you are?” the man grunts, dropping a clenched fist on the seat in front of them. He turns to face them and puffs as much smoke as he can _ right in their faces _, causing them to actually start coughing.

_ This is going to get nasty fast _, Claude thinks. Just as he’s about to open his mouth to retort, he’s interrupted by Dima, who places his hand on the seat too (Conscious of his strength, as to not break the seat. It may be intimidating if he did, but they also aren’t trying to get kicked off the train).

“Uhm—Prince Dimitri Blaiddyd...?” Dima blurts out.

Claude’s mouth hangs open in horror. 

_ Shit _, he thinks. Looking around the train tells him that the man sitting with them is not the only one who heard that. People have stood up to get a better look and are whispering to one another in bewilderment. Dima’s face flushes up and he looks pretty mortified as well. Claude would say it was cute if basically everything else wasn’t happening at that very moment.

“Yeah, and I’m _ Loog _,” the man retorts. “You people are crazy.”

He gets up from the seat and moves somewhere else. Other passengers in the car laugh nervously and seem to calm down, sitting down again. The three of them breathe a sigh of relief in unison.

“Why did you say that!?” Hilda hisses to Dima.

Dima covers his eyes with his hands, clearly ashamed. “I don’t know...! I just panicked... Plus, it was good practice?”

Claude stares at Dima’s hand, which is now under the table. He weighs the pros and cons of holding it, before thinking _ fuck it _. He takes it and squeezes it before letting go. If Dima proclaiming to be a dead prince to the entire train cart didn’t make him die of embarrassment, then this surely will. They’re making incredibly awkward eye contact, but then Dima’s eye looks away and the moment is over. Their faces are painted red and Claude really can’t help but notice how cute it looks when Dima’s ears turn red along with the rest of his face.

“You’ll get plenty of practice later,” Claude says comfortingly, trying not to let his embarrassment seep into his tone, “There’s a lot of people in Fraldarius that we need to convince to even be able to see Lord Rodrigue. Speaking of which, Hilda, you said you had a plan?”

“Yep! You remember Lorenz, right?”

“Not _ him _,” Claude groans. “Please tell me that I somehow met another Lorenz that I totally forgot about until now.”

He had met Lorenz in school. He wasn’t a bad dude, per say. He could just be a bit insufferable at times. That’s all.

“Yes, him. Apparently, he’s been in Fraldarius territory for a while now. I have no clue why because his father supports the Empire, but he’s there.”

“How will he help us?” Dima chimes in.

“Well, I’ve heard he knows some of the friends of Lord Rodrigue’s son. He had a pretty big crush on me back in school. I used to get him to do my work for me. I’m sure it won’t be hard to pass the message along that a certain someone is still alive and would really like to speak to Lord Rodrigue.”

“And you’re sure he won’t just turn around and tell his father?” Claude asks doubtfully.

“That’s where _ you _come in, Claude. Deny it all you want, but you guys were friends. I’m sure you can use that silver tongue of yours to talk him out of it. If it were anyone else, he’d say no, but you always got him to go along with your schemes.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll think of something,” Claude sighs. 

* * *

As they near Fraldarius territory, the fact that their nerves are getting to them is pretty obvious.

Hilda’s worried that Lorenz won’t hear her out, or that he’ll turn them over or something of the like. Also… She didn’t mention it to Claude or Dima, but she’s heard another one of her school friends is there. Someone she’s missed a lot. What will she be like after all these years? Hilda can only hope that she remembers her.

Dima is trying to swallow down the panic that’s welling up inside of him. Can he really play the part of Dimitri well enough to be convincing? Lord Rodrigue could take one look at him and simply shoot down the mere possibility in a matter of seconds. And then what? He’s put all he has into this by giving Claude the diamond. This is the end of the line for him, and he can only hope that the destination is what he’s been hoping for.

Claude’s not worried about Lorenz. He’s sure he can convince him that the noble thing to do would be to help them get poor Prince Dimitri back to the only parental figure he has left. But everyone after Lorenz is the real problem. Claude doesn’t know them and if they don’t believe Dima himself, Claude’s not going to be able to sway them over. But even that is minuscule to the fear that he refuses to acknowledge. The fear that all of it will go right, that Dima will be recognized as Dimitri, and… well. He knows what happens after that.

They’re drawn out of their pent-up worries by the sound of the train screeching to a halt.

“Why did we stop?” Dima asks.

“Maybe—“ Claude starts, trying to form a guess as to what’s happening. He’s cut off by the sound of footsteps as Imperial soldiers approach the three of them. They’re armed.

A tall one steps forward. “Papers.”

Not a question. A demand. 

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?” Hilda asks, keeping her tone innocuous and friendly. 

“We’ve been sent to apprehend a man leaving the country illegally,” the first one explains.

“Oh? He didn’t bring the right papers?”

“No, he did. But he had the wrong name: ‘Gilbert Pranislav.’ Heard of ‘im?” 

Suddenly, the sound of gunshots rings out inside the train car. Someone screams. The soldiers talking to them say something to each other before running off in the direction of the gunshots. Claude breathes a sigh of relief before turning to look at Dima. He’s clenching the seat with a white-knuckled grip and his eye is clouded with pure terror. 

Hilda notices, too. Her voice is soft when it speaks, the characteristic pep gone. “Hey, it’ll be okay. I’ll go see what happened.”

She gets up, but Claude speaks to her before she can walk off. “Hilda... I don’t—well—I think we know what happened.”

Dima’s hands have moved up to cover his ears now, as if trying to block out the sound of gunshots that aren’t there anymore. The only sounds left in the train is the sound of a baby crying and people speaking in hushed whispers.

_ This is really, really, bad, _ Claude thinks. _ If Dima gets worse the officers will come back and question what’s going on, and in this state, Dima isn’t going to react to that well... _

“Claude, try to calm him down,” Hilda instructs. She turns to leave and go see what’s happened, pointless as it is.

“Hey, it’ll be okay, Dima. We’re almost there,” Claude comforts, his hand hovering near Dima’s. “Are you okay with touch?”

When Dima nods, Claude gently pries Dima’s hands from his ears and holds them. “Breath with me, okay? You’re going to be okay.”

Dima shakes his head, hands shaking as the hover aimlessly in the air. His eye is squeezed shut. “That’s not what happened last time. _ She _told me that, but it wasn’t—”

“Last time?” asks Claude. He carefully takes Dima’s hands.

“She—she told me it would be okay. She was so scared, but she--she had a gun—”

“Dima! Hey, it’s alright! No one’s going to shoot you.”

This doesn’t seem to convince Dima. His voice is rough and raw as he speaks. “Not if I’m really him.”

“Shh! It’ll be alright,” Claude consoles, squeezing Dima’s hands. He faintly notices that the train is starting to move, which seems to help Dima calm down. “They can’t do anything once we get there. And we’re almost there, only—”

“We’ve got to go,” Hilda says, rushing back to them. “_ Now _.”

“What’s going on?” Claude asks, pulling Dima up with both his hands (he’d like to say that he’s getting better at doing that).

“Well, just what we suspected. But also, I overheard them say that they’ve been given orders to arrest two men and a woman.”

“Yeah, because we’re the first group of two men and a woman traveling together,” Claude says, sarcasm oozing into his tone. “That could be almost anyone on this train!”

“I think we’re the first group that looks like this!” Hilda says, frantically shoving a poster into his face. And oh—that’s definitely them, in all their glory. Perhaps more concerningly is the “WANTED” written across it.

“Aw man, they forgot Dima’s eyepatch.”

Hilda rolls her eyes. “Let’s go!”

“Where? We are on a _ moving _train,” Claudes asks, folding up the poster and pocketing it. Eyepatch aside, it’s a cool poster and he would be out of his mind to leave it here.

All of a sudden, Dima is pulling them both towards the door at the back of the car, forcing it open. 

“Off!”

The passengers start shouting and getting out of their seats amid the confusion. Claude grabs Dima’s arm.

“We can’t! We’re moving too fast!” he shouts over the wind rushing by.

“We have no other choice!”

They’re all squeezed together, standing between two of the cars. Claude, who is standing in the middle, grabs both of their hands. The wind is making it hard to keep them balanced.

“Hold on tight!” Dima shouts. 

They jump.

The world spins in circles and Claude is barely aware of the fact that it’s him spinning as he rolls across the ground. He quickly stands up, ignoring the pain in his body from _ jumping off a train _. He sees two heads pop out of the grass, pink and blond. Perfect. There’s no time to ask the two of them if they’re alright as he gestures them towards the trees and out of sight.

* * *

“You’re telling me the train crossed the border without them on it, Edelgard?” her uncle says over the phone.

Edelgard clenches a pen in her hand, pressing it against the desk.

“Yes, I am,” she says, grinding her teeth together in contempt. “But rest assured, this is only a minor setback. We _will_ find them, wherever they may be hiding and bring them back.”

“Then _ find _ them and follow them. Figure out who they are. Who _ he _ is. If he’s not Dimitri, bring him back and do what you will to get the message across that _ imposters _like himself are not tolerated,” he growls.

“And if he actually is Dimitri?”

“Finish the job that your _ mother _couldn’t. Alive or dead, do not disappoint me.”

Edelgard hangs up the phone without responding. Anger flows throughout her body. At Volkhard and _ Dima _. 

He didn’t listen. Edelgard shouldn’t have let him go, as it’s proving to be a real pain now that they’ve escaped the Dukedom. He continues to play this game. It’s time for her to break this little fantasy of his apart. He was a nice man, and so familiar... She ignores her doubts, loading her pistol. She can’t let them get in the way of her duty. Hubert hands her coat to her. As she slips it on, she picks up a dagger from inside her drawer and shoves it onto her belt.

Edelgard despises her uncle. But he holds power that she needs on her side, so she does what she must to achieve her goal. Then, and only then can she truly be rid of him.

_ Dead or alive, _ she thinks. _ I have to decide. _

* * *

“Ugh. Claude! Let’s stop, I’m exhausted,” Hilda whines. “So is Dima.”

Dima looks... tired, but not to the point of needing to stop. He blinks at her in confusion. 

“I am?”

“C’mon, Hilda,” Claude says. “We’re almost there.”

He continues walking, ignoring her protesting. After a few moments, Dima gives her a slightly guilty look and follows after Claude, the traitor. She sighs, standing up.

“Guys! Wait for me!”

* * *

“Finally! We’re heeeere!” Hilda cries out, dropping to her knees. “That was way too much walking for a delicate flower like me!”

“Sure, Hilda,” Claude says, rolling his eyes fondly. “We’re not even to the town where House Fraldarius lies, yet. It’s been booming since Houses Gautier and Galatea have sent some of their soldiers here to help fight on the front lines.”

“I wonder if it’s like Fhirdiad,” Dima says, drowning out Hilda’s groan at hearing she has to walk more. Something—excitement, maybe?—flashes in his eye.

“Probably is, knowing the Kingdom.”

Dima starts to continue walking towards the town. Just as Claude begins to follow him, Hilda grabs his arm, stopping him mid-step.

“Claude, you’re going to get your heart broken,” she quietly says, nodding her head in the direction Dima’s going.

Claude’s face burns. He’s so obvious that it’s not surprising she would know, but still. “Please don’t do this right now, Hilda. You—you don’t get it,” he protests.

“I’m your best friend,” she says as gently as possible, “And you and I both know that if this works<strike>-</strike>if they accept that he’s Dimitri--then you’ll never see him again.”

Claude closes his eyes and sighs. He knows she’s right… but-

_ “Say, if this whole Prince Dimitri thing actually works, wanna help me out with that dream of mine?” _

_ “I think I’d like that.” _

Claude shakes his head. It’s wishful thinking to believe that they wouldn’t go their separate ways, but still, he can’t help but wish.

“You still don’t know what you’re talking about. Come on, let’s go catch up.”

_ Oh, Claude _, Hilda thinks. But before she can protest further, Dima has come back as well.

“Is something wrong?” he asks. “You weren’t following and I got worried. I talked with someone while I waited and they said you can see the town from over the next hill.”

Hilda seems to get a sudden burst of energy from this news. She takes their bag from Dima and practically runs towards the next hill. 

_ Delicate flower, my ass, _Claude thinks.

“Guess we made it, huh?” Claude says to Dima.

“I guess we did,” Dima says, smiling slightly. “Thank you, Claude. Sincerely. I’m glad it’s you whom I put my trust in.”

  
Claude smiles back at him. It’s very soft and they’re staring right into each other’s eye(s).

They seem to realize it at the same time, frantically breaking eye contact and blushing. It’s not unlike the moment they shared on the train earlier.

“Well, time to move again!” Claude stammers quickly. “Hilda! Slow down!”

Dima watches Claude run up the hill, trying to catch up with her. He should probably follow. 

_ Over that hill, _ Dima thinks. _ That’s where I can find what I’ve been looking for. _

  
His heart is beating fast, and not because of what had just happened a few moments ago. But because _ someone _ is waiting for him, over that hill. He may not know who or why, but he’s sure that they’re there. He’s never a big dreamer. for as long as he can recall (which isn’t all that long, but still), and yet… This is the one dream that he’s relied on for all these years. The one that caused him to walk miles to Fhirdiad with no clear objective in mind. The very same one that has him acting like a dead prince.

Somewhere, there’s a key to unlock what’s been forgotten. All the answers to who he is, who his family is, and where _ home _ is, all so close now that he’s almost there. Dima can hear Claude and Hilda calling for him and he wills himself to take start stepping up the hill.

It truly is beautiful. He can make out the home of the Fraldarius family and next to it, a blue flag flies proudly, regal and beautiful. It should feel foreign to him. Dima’s never seen anything but the imposing red of the Empire on the flagpoles of the Dukedom, but something about that blue feels so _ familiar _. 

Claude and Hilda are standing beside him, pointing out things to him and laughing, but their words are lost on his ears. 

_ The past he’s been yearning to discover is finally within reach. _

* * *

_ “Heart don’t fail me now _

_ Courage don’t desert me _

_ Don’t turn back now that we’re here _

_ People always say _

_ Life is full of choices _

_ No one ever mentions fear _

_ Or how the world can seem so vast _

_ On a journey to the past.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Gilbert.
> 
> And that’s the end of Act 1. This chapter alone covered at least four major songs (“Stay, I Pray You,” “We’ll Go From There,” “Still,” and the big one: “Journey to the Past”) and one more minor song that isn’t in the cast recording (“Traveling Sequence”). 
> 
> Things are really picking up! I might as well mention it now, but Lorenz is technically Lily, but the role of Lily was changed a lot for the FE3H side of things (and also because I wanted to give some other characters more appearances). Also, I don’t really ship Hilda/Lorenz and so it’s pretty one-sided, though it still makes sense because of their supports. You may notice I hinted at something else in there ;) 
> 
> Claude’s got it bad, but he’s in denial and Dimitri has it bad too he just hasn’t realized it yet. I’m not good at writing romance so I hope this isn’t going to fast or too slow.
> 
> There were so many good songs in this chapter I had trouble choosing what to put as the end lyrics. But Journey to the Past is like the big Anastasia song (aside from In a Crowd of Thousands and Once Upon a December which are also pretty popular), so I had to.
> 
> Most of this was written on my phone while on the road. I think I gave myself a bad headache and I’ve been editing and adding things for about two hours since I got home. Hurrah!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Thank you all so much for the support. Your kudos, bookmarks, and comments really butter my biscuit :)


	6. Living In The Land of Yesterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bridge, a trio of friends, and Lorenz Hellman Gloucester.

The first thing they had done upon arriving in the town was buy new clothes. The ratty, ragged ones they had been wearing from when they jumped off the train weren’t very likely to impress anyone. Especially if they were with someone who was apparently royalty.

Currently, they’re walking through the town. People from all over the Kingdom have gathered here to help fight in the war or to seek solace after escaping the Dukedom. Even some of the heirs of other noble houses that oppose the Empire have been sent here. 

_ Or perhaps they came willingly? _ Dima questions. He isn’t sure why he thinks of this, but he does nonetheless.

_ It’s so much brighter here, _he thinks as he looks around, taking in the sights. Fhirdiad was a grand city full of history, but it was so cold and gloomy there. The Empire had hung over the people’s heads and breathed down their necks, leaving misery and disrest in its wake. Here, merchants line the street corners, selling fresh food, crafts and trinkets, flowers, tea leaves, and whatever else one could think of. People walk with their heads up towards the sky and smile at them as they pass. It feels like an entirely different world, one that’s very warm and welcoming. He finds himself politely returning greetings as he walks past people. He’s surprised by how easily it comes to him, almost as if he’s done it sometime before.

For the first time since he woke up to the vision of white walls and monotonous nurses, Dima feels a sense of freedom and hope. He’s broken out of his line of thought by a book being pressed into his hands. It’s something about the history of the area that Hilda must’ve picked up for him to look at.

“I’m going to get us a room at the hotel. Then I’ll catch up with Hilda to search for Lorenz,” Claude says, stretching his arms out behind his back. “It’s best you don’t come with us, Dima. We should probably keep your identity a secret.” 

At Dima’s nod, Claude grabs their bag and runs off, saying something about how comfortable the beds in the hotel will be.

“The hotel _ does _ sound tempting,” Hilda says to Dima. “But I’ve got to see if I can sniff out where Lorenz is. Claude and I heard there’s a club where some prominent Kingdom nobles are, which sounds like his crowd of people. Take care of yourself!”

“You too,” Dima responds. And with that, Hilda is walking off, combing through her pink locks as she goes in an effort to get her hair to behave.

Dima stands there aimlessly for a few moments, deciding what he should do. He could go relax at the hotel with Claude… which does sound tempting. However, he figures there’s no point to it because Claude had said he was going to go find Hilda after checking in. Eventually, Dima decides to check out the book that Hilda had given him.

He walks around town, reading about the historical significance of a multitude of buildings, monuments, and statues. It’s somewhat interesting, but most of it boils down to the same stuff. Named after a former head of House Fraldarius or the like. Perhaps the architects who designed them, but only sometimes.

Soon enough, Dima finds himself standing on a bridge. It’s a grand one, despite being relatively short. Pedestrians walk across the sidewalks, peering over the edge and pointing to the intricate designs and grand architecture. Dima finds his eye glued to a design of some sort that’s been carved into the stones that make up the roadway. It almost looks like a star of sorts. He takes out the book to see if there’s anything about the bridge in it. It takes a few moments of flipping pages, but he soon finds what he’s searching for.

_ The Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd Bridge is a famous bridge in the city. It’s widely admired for its extravagant architecture and stunning view. It was named after the late King Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd, whom the head of House Fraldarius, Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, was great friends with. It is said they attended school together and that even their children were good friends. _

_ After King Lambert’s assassination, this bridge was built in his honor. It’s decorated with the crest of the Blaiddyd family for this reason… _

Dima’s eye glazes over the text. _ King Lambert… _ he thinks. For some reason, he feels a strong connection to the bridge. He looks up, taking in the bridge in a whole new light. As he slowly makes his way across the bridge, his heart pounds in his chest, drowning out the sound of people walking by or shouting from the nearby merchant stands. 

He’s torn between being afraid of the truth or of meeting Lord Rodrigue and also being excited at being so close to finding the person here that’s waiting for him. Whoever they are, Dima hopes he finds them soon. Just across the bridge is the Fraldarius family’s residence… It all feels so special.

For a long time after he’d woken up in the hospital, he’d had nothing going for him. Working and walking were his only activities. Going from one place to the next, hoping he had made enough money to afford a meal.

Even with all the trouble they’d been forced to go through on the way here, from Edelgard to the train, it feels worth it to Dima.

* * *

_ Knock, knock, knock. _

“Come in.”

Ah. His son. Rodrigue turns his chair around to face Felix, who is bristling not unlike a hissing cat. Besides his son is Rufus Blaiddyd.

He’d known Rufus when he’d been in school. It wasn’t hard to tell that Rufus had been jealous of Lambert. Rufus had good marks in school, but their parents instead fussed over Lambert, who often snuck out of class with Rodrigue.

“There,” Felix growls out, crossing his arms. “Here’s my old man, just like you asked. I’m leaving now, and _ stop _ bothering me.”

And with that, Felix storms out of his office, slamming the door behind him. Rodrigue sighs. Felix detests spending more than ten minutes at a time in his company. Rodrigue can’t help but feel that he has failed as a father. But, alas; his guest.

“Ah, Rufus. What brings you all the way here?” he asks, keeping his tone cautious. Rodrigue has a feeling that he knows why Rufus is here, it’s the same reason as always.

“I’d like to continue our last discussion about _ my _ inheritance,” Rufus says, irritable as always. He drops a stack of papers on Rodrigue’s lap. One glance at them tells him all he needs to know.

“Rufus, you know I do not wish to deny you of your family’s inheritance,” he starts, choosing his words carefully. “But I have a duty to Lambert. Until we know that--”

“We _ do _ know, though,” Rufus points out. “My nephew is dead. Even if he isn’t, it’s not like there’s much waiting for him.”

“I’m sorry, Rufus, but I won’t waver until I have proof. They never let me see the body, no matter how much I demanded. Something is going on there.”

At this, Rufus lets out an unceremonious _ hmph _ and levels a glare at Rodrigue. Then, he spins on his heel and heads straight out the door, slamming it behind him, not unlike Felix moments ago.

He lets out yet another sigh. He knows he can’t keep holding back on Rufus, but…

“You should just give up already. At least then he’d stop pestering us all the time.”

Rodrigue looks up to see Felix in the doorway. “Felix?” he says, surprised. “You were listening?”

“Whatever,” Felix snaps. “He’s right. Dimitri is dead. It’s pathetic how--”

“Felix!” Rodrigue scolds. “Watch the way you speak.”

Felix narrows his eyes. “You cling to this pitiful hope that he’s alive. There’s no point.”

“Felix.”

“You’re so obsessed with it. It’s always on your mind. Shame that Glenn--”

“Felix!” Rodrigue shouts.

“You always do this. I’m out,” Felix snarls.

And Rodrigue is alone, yet again. He knows Felix is also right, deep down. Rodrigue looks up towards the mantle in the office, staring holes into the gauntlets that have found their place to stay up there. The blood has been washed away, but the scratches and dents remain. Glenn had treated them as a lucky charm of sorts, keeping care to make sure they didn’t rust or break. It feels almost disgraceful that they’re in such a poor condition now, but Rodrigue doesn’t have the heart to repair them. Felix isn’t the only son he’s lost. He deeply wishes to fix his relationship with Felix, but… He doesn’t know how. If only Lambert were still alive.

He turns away from the mantle, back towards the desk. He opens a small drawer, where a small stack of parchment sits. He hates doing it, but he must read each one. 

Rodrigue picks up the first one, written in loopy, delicate cursive. It’s an immediate warning sign, but he reads it anyways.

_ “Dear Lord Rodrigue Fraldarius…” _

Dimitri wouldn’t be so formal with him. He sighs, tearing it up and throwing it in the waste bin. Onto the next one. It starts okay, but it’s inevitable to end as all the others do. The writer in this letter asks for money to travel over to him. A scam, then. Not uncommon either.

He can feel his patience growing thin. He slams the drawer shut. Perhaps it’s time to give up. Rodrigue has been searching and waiting for five years and all it’s resulted in is people who think they’re clever enough to get money.

When the first letters had come, he’d been overjoyed. He’d been hopeful. Willing to meet the writers, even. But time after time, he saw through their ruses. With each imposter, the hope dwindled.

_ Lambert, my friend, _ Rodrigue thinks. _ I’m sorry I couldn’t find him. And Dimitri, I’m sorry for that, too. _

He looks at the picture of him and Lambert that’s sat on his desk since the year it was taken. He and Lambert, far younger, stand together, boyish grins unbefitting of their positions on their faces. In both of their arms are their young sons, and in between the two of them is Glenn. 

He flips the frame face down.

* * *

“C’mon, Felix! It’ll be fun,” Sylvain says, winking. “We can pick up some ladies and--”

“I have no interest in _ women _, Sylvain,” Felix snaps.

“Aw Felix, snappier than usual today? What’s got you all ruffled?”

Felix crosses his arms, turning around. Sylvain has been annoying him since he stormed out of his father’s office (the second time) and Felix is five seconds away from giving his a nice nosebleed.

“C’mon, Felix. You can tell me,” Sylvain says, taking on a rarer, more serious tone.

“Fine. Rufus came again today and I got in a fight with my pitiful old man. Again.” 

“Oh,” Sylvain says. “Listen, I know you don’t want to go pick up chicks or whatever, but come with me? Ingrid’s going to be there, too. We can just chill.”

And that’s how Felix found himself standing in the local club, scowling down at his drink. Everyone is too loud, and it’s _ irritating. _

Sylvain leans over so he can talk to them over all the noise, “So, Ingrid, what’s going on?”

“Another man my father wants me to marry,” Ingrid sighs. “And another suitor that is about as shameful as they come.”

Ever since Glenn died, Ingrid’s father has been frantically searching for new suitors to marry. With the war going on like it is now, he’s become even more desperate. Felix groans. 

Sylvain pats her shoulder, then lifts his drink to his mouth and drinks the remaining amount in one gulp. After he puts the glass down, he stretches, wincing as he lifts his arm.

Sylvain likes to act like they don’t know why. He always claims some girl he hooked up with got mad, but… He’d just returned home for about a week to check on the state of things. It’s not hard to guess that the girl he talked about is really just an excuse for hiding the fact it was his brother. 

  
Felix catches Ingrid’s eyes. She’s caught on too.

“Sylvain…” she starts, but before she can comment on the injury, Sylvain pops up, an easy smile on his face.

“Well, I’m gonna go get some fresh air now,” he says. Then, at both of their looks of suspicion, he adds, “Come on, don’t worry! I’ll come back. Promise.”

Felix watches him go, sniffing in distaste as he stares down at the drink. He’s never cared for alcohol. Beside him, Ingrid sighs.

“I’ve got to go home and meet yet another suitor tomorrow,” she says. “Though, truth be told… I’d rather stay here and fight.”

“Just go find a husband already,” Felix bites out. Part of him knows that isn’t fair. But she acts like the highest honor she can achieve is going out to war to be slaughtered. Just like _ Glenn _.

“Felix!” Ingrid snaps. “Fine. If you’re going to be like that, I’m leaving.”

And with that, Ingrid is gone, too. He’s being _ realistic _. Ingrid and his father… they cling to these ideals that brought Glenn five feet under. Dying to protect someone else, there’s no honor there. 

* * *

Hilda steps into the club, quickly scanning the people around.

“Hello there. Do you need some help?”

She turns to her side to see a woman about her age, with short, blonde hair and ribbons that stick out above each ear.

“Hi there! I’m looking for a man, about my age, with purple hair,” Hilda says, cheerfully. “Have you seen him by any chance?”

“Oh! I think I have,” the woman tells her, pointing back to an area further inside the club. “I think he was sitting alone at a table over there.”

“Thank you so much!” 

“It’s no problem. I hope you have a nice night.”

And with that, the woman brushes past her, out the doors. Hilda’s a bit disappointed that she didn’t catch a name, but she has more important things to attend to.

Just as the woman told her, Lorenz is sitting alone at a table. At first, she has to do a double-take. His hair is long and gone is that _ awful _ undercut and hairline. Surely this can’t be him, but the man’s drink of choice is _ tea _, which confirms to her that there’s no one else it could be.

He looks up as she takes a seat across from him, elegantly placing down his cup of tea. 

“Oh, Miss Goneril! It’s been ages!” he exclaims.

“Please, Lorenz,” Hilda says, exasperated. “We went to school together. Just call me Hilda.”

“Ah. Hilda, what brought you over here? Last I heard you went with Claude to--”

“Fhirdiad. But we’re here now!”

“‘We?’” Lorenz asks, curiosity evident in his raised brow. “So where is--”

“Look! My favorite nobleman,” Claude says, popping out of seemingly nowhere, causing them both to jump. “Sorry that I’m late. I didn’t want to come.”

Hilda snickers. “But seriously, Lorenz. We have a favor to ask of you,” she starts. “Do you know Sylvain? The heir to House Gautier?”

“I do know him. In fact, he’s here tonight, I believe. I can go fetch him if you want.”

“No, no,” Claude interjects quickly. “We need _ you _ to talk to him.”

“What of?” Lorenz asks.

“Well you see, Sylvain is friends with Lord Rodrigue’s son, Felix. So we need you to convince Sylvain to tell him that there’s someone that his father needs to meet.”

“And who is this someone?”

“We can’t tell you. It’s very important, though. The _ noble _thing to do would help this person meet Lord Rodrigue,” Hilda says.

“Hmm. I do not approve of this idea. Knowing you two, this is probably some sort of ridiculous scheme,” Lorenz says, eyes narrowing in skepticism. 

“Please? For us?” Hilda says, batting her eyelashes.

“For us?” Claude adds, doing his best puppy eyes.

After a few moments, Lorenz sighs. “Fine. I will help you. But if I find out that you were up to no good, I took no part in this. Understand?”

_ So easy, _ Hilda thinks. “Understood!” She and Claude chirp in unison, mock saluting.

“So, what do you need me to tell him?”

“Just tell him to convince Felix to tell his father that there’s someone he should meet at the opera this weekend,” Hilda explains. “And if he isn’t convinced… well. We’re hoping he’ll go along. After all, it’ll be you of all people requesting.”

“I see,” Lorenz says. “Leave this to me. I have a way with words.”

“We’re counting on you… friend,” Claude tells him.

As they leave the club, both fail to notice the ticket that slips from Hilda’s coat, fluttering in the wind. It’s pushed along the pavement by the gust, until coming to a stop underneath someone’s shoe. This person lets their gaze drop from where they were watching the two people leaving the club, noticing the ticket. They bend down to pick it up.

“An opera, is it?” Edelgard questions as she reads it. 

* * *

Sylvain sighs, stretching his arm, only to wince again from the area where Miklan had punched him. Felix and Ingrid aren’t stupid. He knows he could talk to them, but avoidance is Sylvain’s main talent.

“Sylvain.”

He’s drawn out of his thoughts by the person calling his name. He turns around, at first expecting Felix or Ingrid, but immediately sees that’s not the case. Lorenz Hellman Gloucester stands in front of him, chin held high. Sylvain’s talked to him on occasion. He’d even call them friends, somewhat. Lorenz can be okay to talk to when he isn’t going on some spiel about nobility.

“Hey, Lorenz,” he says. “What’s up?’

“I know we don’t know each other all that well, but I have a favor to ask of you,” Lorenz starts. 

“Go on.”

“Well, you’re friends with Lord Rodrigue’s son, no?”

“Felix?” Now Sylvain’s definitely listening, curiosity growing tenfold. “Yeah, I’ve known him since before he could walk. What about him?”

“I need you to convince him to get his father to see the opera this weekend,” Lorenz explains. “Truth be told, I don’t have all the answers to the questions you must have. But two friends of mine, whom I trust, have someone they would like Lord Fraldarius to meet.”

Sylvain frowns. It’s an odd request, especially considering it’s going through him. But if anyone can convince Felix, it’s probably him.

“Alright, I guess. But I’m coming too, so no funny business, alright?”

_ I’ll bring Ingrid, too _ , Sylvain thinks. _ She’s the one who won’t hesitate to upper-cut someone who’s acting out of line. _

“You have my word,” Lorenz tells him, bowing in gratitude. “Thank you.”

And with that, Lorenz is gone. Sylvain sighs. 

_ Guess I have to go find Felix, _ he thinks.

* * *

“You want me to tell him what?” Felix snarls.

“Please, ‘Lix! If anyone can convince him, it’s you.”

“Hell no. Go away,” Felix says, grouchily.

_ Time to change tactics, _ Sylvain thinks. 

“Please? Pretty please? Pretty please with a cherry on top? Pleeeeeeeease? Please, please, please, pl--”

“Fine!” Felix snaps. “If only to make you shut up.”

Sylvain pulls Felix into a tight hug. “Thank you!”

Felix grumbles, saying something just quiet enough so Sylvain can’t hear. But, he doesn’t push Sylvain away. So, he’ll count it as a win for him.  


* * *

_ “Halfway between where I’ve been _

_ And where I’m going _

_ In between wondering why _

_ And finally knowing _

_ Thousands of lights _

_ Shining below me _

_ Somebody waits _

_ Somebody, know me” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a lot of new characters.
> 
> Writing Felix is really hard, he's a complex character who I think people either tend to hate or love. Same with Rodrigue, really. I find that a lot of people like to portray Rodrigue as an awful father who never cared for Felix, but I never think that he's like that. Not to say he doesn't do anything wrong, but Rodrigue genuinely feels sorry about his bad relationship with Felix. Both Felix and Rodrigue have understandable feelings about one another and I wanted to portray that.
> 
> Also sorry for the shorter chapter, I've been super busy with theater-related things all week. I didn't even expect to get this chapter out today. You may also notice that this now has a chapter count. Act II is going to go by fast, probably.
> 
> Chapter Title is from "Land of Yesterday" (go figure) and the end lyrics are from "Crossing a Bridge."
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and thank you for your kind comments! I love reading them <3
> 
> P.S. I also have a twitter now, if you want to hit me up. @orangeejuiceren
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and thank you for your kind comments!


	7. Should Have Never Let Them Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you think I’m really him?” Dima asks in a small voice. Claude seems to be thinking again.
> 
> “Can I tell you a story?” Claude asks.

At the hotel, Dima finds that he sinks into slumber with ease. The plush beds are rather comfortable and he’s faintly aware of Claude sitting by the window, looking at the stars, before he drifts off.

When he opens his eyes again, he’s in a ballroom. Outside the tall glass windows, the world is completely dark. The sound of wind howling rings in his ears, but he feels no wind. The chill, however, can be felt. 

Dima notices that people are here, as always. Dancing across the weathered marble floors and humming softly in the absence of music. The sound of the wind dies down. The people seem to be moving closer and Dima finds himself frozen in place, like a statue.

He knows what’s coming. He knows very well. He turns towards a tall man, with blonde hair that is akin to his own. The man’s empty eyes stare holes into his own. 

“Who are you?” Dima asks, softly. “Why do you always come?”

“Until you remember, you will not be rid of us,” the man answers. Dima spins around, trying to avert his gaze. 

“Why are you not in bed yet?” a woman, this time, with dusty brown hair. “It’s getting late.”

“What?” Dima croaks.

He turns again, trying to find a way out. The next—a boy, possibly younger than him, with long raven locks.

“Make sure you look out for my brother when I die,” the boy tells him.

“...When you die?” 

  
“Oh, don’t you know?” The boy tells him, drawing closer. “We’re  _ all  _ going to die soon.”

The world is spinning. The boy speaks again, “You asked us a question, so we’ll ask you one. An eye for an eye.”

“Who are you?” the woman asks.

“I don’t know who I am,” Dima rasps.

The man again. “Why not? How could you forget who you are, Dima?”

A myriad of voices rings in his ear, echoing ‘ _ Dima _ ’ over and over again, growing in volume each time. Everyone is so  _ loud _ and he’s so lost. He’s faintly aware of his chest heaving, hands trembling.

_ Why don’t you know who you are? _

_ How could you forget? _

_ Dima. Dima. Dima. _

“Dima!”

His eyes fly open and he throws himself upwards, supporting himself with a hand the bed. His breath is coming so fast—too fast—he can hardly keep up, choking as he tries to gasp in air.

“Dima! What’s wrong?” Oh. That voice. He’s sure he knows it, filtering through names and faces in his mind.

“Claude?” he manages to ask between gasps.

“That’s right, Dima. We’re in the hotel. In Fraldarius.”

“The voices,” Dima chokes out. “They never leave, they keep coming back. They won’t stop—why won’t they stop?”

He feels a dip in the weight of the bed as Claude sits down. “They’re just that—voices. You were having a bad dream, Dima.”

_ Oh,  _ Dima thinks.  _ Oh. _

It takes a few moments, but Claude never rushes him. Eventually, Dima’s breathing returns to somewhat normal, aside from the slight staccato. 

“Will you…” he pauses, searching for his words. “Will you stay with me?”

Claude smiles. “Of course,” he says, reassuring him. “Want to talk about it?”

Before, Dima would have refused. But now? He isn’t so sure he can. So, he opens his mouth. “Claude. Who do you think I am?”

Claude makes a noise, indicating that he’s thinking, before shifting into a more comfortable position, his back against the headboard. “Well, if I was Lord Fraldarius, I’d want you to be Dimitri.”

Dima makes a humming noise in the back of his throat, prompting Claude to keep talking.

“But alas. I’m not him,” Claude continues. “So, I think that whoever you are, you’re a person who is very strong. Beautiful. Extremely brave.”

_ Oh.  _ “You do?”

“I do.”

Their hands are brushing. Claude briefly loops his fingers in Dima’s and squeezes, before letting go. Dima is sure that he must be blushing and prays that Claude won’t notice in the dark.

“I… Thank you, Claude.”

A few moments pass in silence and Dima realizes that he and Claude are holding hands again. This time, they don’t let go.

“Do you think I’m really him?” Dima asks in a small voice. Claude seems to be thinking again.

“Can I tell you a story?” Claude asks. Dima wasn’t expecting that response, but he nods his head. Then, with some embarrassment, realizes Claude probably can’t make out the nod in the darkness.

“Go ahead.”

“I told you about the troubles I had in my homeland, yes?” Claude prompts.

“I remember,” Dima responds, curious to hear more.

“Well, when I was pretty young, maybe around ten, my mother noticed that I was still really struggling. I didn’t have any friends. The kids that were nice to me stopped after their parents told them to stay away from me. So, my mother reluctantly took me to Fodlan. To see if it’d be better, I guess.”

“So school going to school here wasn’t your first time?” Dima asks, eyes wide.

“It wasn’t. Anyhow, my mother really wanted to stay clear of the Alliance, so we went north.”

“To the Kingdom?”

“Mhm. She picked the worst time of year, perhaps. Midwinter, Ethereal Moon. I hated it. Not just because of the weather, but it really wasn’t much better than where I came from. People treated me differently still. But I remember we got caught in this large crowd of people. My mother was trying to get me to leave, but I was too curious.”

Dima is captivated by the story. His heart is beating in his chest with an emotion he can’t quite name.

“Then, these big doors open,” Claude continues. “And out of them comes the King in all his glory, holding little Prince Dimitri in his arms. He puts him down and I don’t remember much of what the King was saying, but I remember the crowd parting as they walked through. I pushed myself to the front, all excited, and yelled out his name. My mother must have died from mortification.”

Claude pauses, smiling softly as he closes his green eyes. “I reached out my hand to him, and he turns to me and smiles. There were so many people in the crowd and he was rather shy, but I remember that he smiled at me.”

“You’re making me feel like I was there.” 

“Why not? We can make it part of  _ your  _ story,” Claude tells him. “Give it a try.”

Dima closes his eyes. “The king—my father—walked me through the crowd. I hid behind his leg, shied away from all the people fawning over me,” he starts. “But then, this boy parted the crowd and shouted, ‘Dimitri!’ at me. He didn’t wear clothing of Faerghus. He was thin, a bit rowdy. But he stood out in that crowd. And I didn’t shy away.”

Claude laughs. “And then…?” he prompts.

“And then, he reached his hand out. I don’t know why, but I turned to him.”

“And you smiled.”

“And I smiled,” Dima says. Claude’s hand is so warm in his and the sound of his heart beating in his chest is almost overwhelming. “Then, he bowed.”

_ Wait _ , Dima thinks, mouth going dry. Claude’s eyes widen.

“I—I didn’t tell you that,” Claude says in awe, sitting up straight.

Dima—no, Dimitri. He knows it in his heart. Visions of dancing with a young girl dressed in red and pretending to a knight with friends flit across his eyes. He is that little boy being held in the arms of the blonde man. The little boy being sung to by the windowsill.

He is the boy who holds a music box in his hands, thinking of being with his friends.

“You didn’t need to,” Dimitri tells him, voice shaking. “I remember.”

Suddenly, he finds himself pressed into a tight hug. He can feel Claude’s laughter against his own chest. They’re so close. And Dimitri… Dimitri finds that he doesn’t mind.

“After you walked on, my mother dragged me away. But even though we went back home…” Claude pauses, seemingly gathering his wits. “Back to  _ Almyra _ , I still knew somehow, someday, we’d meet again.”

Dimitri shuts his eyes. He isn’t sure who leans in first, but Claude’s lips are pressed against his. Dimitri doesn’t shy away, just like all those years ago, when two young boys met in a crowd of thousands.

* * *

The opera house is regal and grand with tall vaulted ceilings and ornate chandeliers illuminating the velvet seats in the house. The stage is made of a beautiful, glossy-looking wood, with a velvet blue grand curtain. Hilda ushers Dima—or Dimitri, as Claude had informed her—and Claude to their seats. 

The two of them are practically gawking at one another. Dimitri is wearing a black jacket with a collar lined with fur. Along with black dress clothes, he wears a blue cravat. Hilda had taken it upon herself to do his hair, eventually settling with tying it back loosely. Claude, on the other hand, is wearing a light tan shirt with poofy sleeves, a colorful sash wrapped around his waist, and a white cravat. Hilda had insisted on dressing them up.

The other audience members murmur and chat among themselves. As Dimitri and Claude seat themselves in their box, Hilda glances across the house. She spots Lorenz and waves at him but is promptly distracted by another group entering. A man dressed in teal blues with chin-length hair, another man with similarly-colored hair which is tied back into a ponytail, a woman with shorter, blonde hair, and a man with bright orange hair, who Hilda thinks is Sylvain. 

_ They’re here, _ she thinks. Turning back to Claude and Dimitri tells her they’ve noticed too, as they’re talking in low voices to each other while shooting glances across the house. What is far more telling to her, however, is the fact that as her gaze follows their arms down, she notices that their hands are joined. 

Hilda wants to be happy for them, she really does. But she knows what’s going to happen. Dimitri is going to meet Lord Rodrigue, who will recognize him as the Prince. Then, she and Claude will get paid and Dimitri will no longer be the man who was working on the streets as a street-sweeper. He and Claude will go their separate ways because Dimitri will be  _ royalty _ and Claude won’t.

Her heart pangs with the realization that she should have never let them dance on that day in the abandoned theatre.

* * *

Dimitri really hopes his hand isn’t sweating. If it is, Claude hasn’t said anything. But he’s so nervous. Everyone here is so regal and fancy, and sitting directly across the house is a group of familiar faces.

This is the evening. He feels like he’s stuck in a dream, because it’s all  _ right there _ , in front of him. His past all within reach. Everything he’s been working towards since the day he woke up in the hospital.

Dimitri blows a strand of hair out of his eyes (and ignores it when it falls back a moment later) and squeezes Claude’s hand tighter. The house lights dim and the blue curtain opens, as the opera begins.

He’s sure it’s wonderful, really. When he manages to pay attention, the singing is very nice and the dancing very graceful, but mostly, all he can hear is the thoughts racing through his mind. Every way this could go right or wrong and every possible scenario that could happen is playing out in his head.

Meanwhile, Claude himself is feeling equally nervous. Not about their plan, but about Dimitri. Dimitri, who is sitting next to him, hand held tight. He places his free hand on Dimitri’s leg, which is shaking in anticipation. 

Part of Claude wishes he and Dimitri could just get up and leave, never to return. But Claude has to see this through to the end. It’s what he’s promised, planned, and work towards for so long.

He should feel happy for Dimitri, who is finally going to be happy, finally going to be where he belongs. But all Claude feels is dread.

On the other side of the house, Rodrigue has lost interest in the opera (not that he was much of a performing arts person). Instead, he finds his interest locked onto the group of three sitting in a box across the house. The young woman and dark-haired man aren’t what catches his eye, but instead… The blonde hair, the blue eyes. The same shade that belonged to his best friend.

Part of him knows better than to hope. He’s sure there’s plenty of people who have the same hair and eye colors, but still. Could it be Dimitri? Rodrigue shakes his head. He’s seen this story plenty of times now. A bright young man prancing around as his dead friend’s son. 

He thinks of Felix’s words again, _ “You cling to this pitiful hope that he’s alive. There’s no point.” _

So, he ignores the hope in his heart and focuses back on the opera again.

Further back on the opposite side of the house, Edelgard watches Dima with narrowed eyes. It’s clear to her that he’s enamoured with this man that he’d run off with.

She thinks of the blue hilted dagger on her belt and the pistol in its holster, hidden under her red coat. She goes through the motions in her head, lifting the gun, pulling the trigger. It’s simple, so simple.

So why is she so hesitant? Sure, she had met Dima and had a nice chat with him, but Edelgard isn’t someone held back by sentimentality. She’s here to reach the end—Dima’s end—and the means of doing so should be irrelevant. She resolves herself, trying to block out the memories that are trying to resurface. 

She has to do this.

* * *

Sylvain and Ingrid are staring at each other, eyes wide. Both of them had only just caught on, but there’s no doubt in Sylvain’s head when he sees the man sat across from them. He knows Ingrid is thinking the same.

_ Dimitri _ . As soon as the house lights turn on again, he and Ingrid are bursting out the box, making their way over.

Dimitri is talking to a man with tan skin and dark brown hair, but abruptly looks up when he sees them approach. He looks a lot different than what Sylvain remembers. Taller, longer hair, and well, the lack of a right eye, but it’s definitely him. He’s sure of it.

“Dimitri?” Ingrid says, shock still evident in her voice.

“Hello,” Dimitri says, before trailing off, eye distant. The man beside him squeezes his arm and Dimitri shakes his head, eye filled with clarity. Clears his throat. “Hello, Ingrid. Sylvain.”

Dimitri smiles and Sylvain finds himself pulling his friend—his friend who he thought was  _ dead _ —into an embrace. Ingrid also wraps her arms around them, a smile on her face.

After they pull apart, Dimitri tells them what he can. It’s rather fast, so fast that Sylvain gets whiplash, but he ultimately understands. They’re also introduced to his companions, Claude and Hilda. If the moment weren’t so touching, Sylvain would probably tease Dimitri about whatever is going on between him and Claude, but alas.

“We need to take you to Rodrigue,” Ingrid says, voice filled with resolve. Sylvain nods in agreement.

“We should meet them back at their house,” Sylvain suggests. “More private.”

So, they rush over to the Fraldarius estate, welcomed by guards after they recognize Sylvain and Ingrid. Eventually, the door opens again, and Felix and Rodrigue enter. Sylvain realizes that this whole interaction is either going to go extremely well or horribly wrong.

They stare at Claude and Hilda, then at Dimitri. The silence that fills the room is so awkward that Sylvain almost wants to laugh. Or cry. He isn’t sure. Ultimately, the silence is broken by Rodrigue.

“Come,” he says, voice unreadable. Dimitri slowly rises from his seat and the two walk off into Rodrigue’s study, the door shut behind them. Everyone is silent, emotions of anxiety and anticipation filling the room. Felix is still standing there, before turning slowly to Sylvain.

“What the hell,” he says. “I’m not doing this.”

It’s Felix. Honestly, all things considered, his reaction could be worse.

“Felix,” Ingrid says. He spins around to face her.

“He’s dead. You know it, I know it. I’m  _ not _ doing this.”

Next thing he knows, Felix has walked out of the front door and slammed it shut behind him. Sylvain’s conflicted between getting up and trying to talk to him and staying here and seeing what happens with Rodrigue and Dimitri. Eventually, he decides to stay put. Felix probably won’t be so willing to have a nice chat right now.

“I need a drink,” groans Hilda. Beside her, Claude’s leg is shaking as he taps his fingers to his chin. Claude wants to burst into the room where Rodrigue and Dimitri are, the anticipation is killing him. He has no idea what’s happening behind those doors. He isn’t sure what he  _ wants _ to happen. 

If they come out and Rodrigue accepts Dimitri, then Dimitri will be happy. He’ll get to be with his friends again, Claude’ll be rich, and it’ll be everything they’ve ever wanted. Somehow, with everything they’ll win from this, it still feels like losing.

When they go their separate ways, like they did that day all those years ago, will they meet again? Probably not, Claude realizes. He hates this emotion he’s feeling. He wants to be glad, wants to be relieved, but he isn’t. When he came up with their plan, he hadn’t planned on  _ loving _ Dimitri. The one thing—the one person—that he loses when this is all over. For the first time in many years, Claude feels truly stupid.

The door is flung open and Claude’s head flies up. Dimitri rushes out, but… there’s no joy. No happiness. Just a concoction of anger, grief, and pain. Claude stands, reaches out a hand to put on Dimitri’s shoulder, but he wrenches it away.

“What happened?” Ingrid asks, worriedly.

“He accused me of being some imposter, out for his money. He wouldn’t even look at me!” Dimitri growls.

“C’mon Dimitri, it’ll be okay!” Claude tries to reassure him. “I’ll go in there and—”

Dimitri’s eye snaps over to him and Claude can now clearly tell what emotion he’s feeling; anger.

“And tell him that I was a pawn for your scheme? You—you  _ used _ me. You made me into someone I could never even hope to  _ be _ . I may have been naive and hungry when I asked you for help, but I wasn’t a  _ liar _ . I—I’m done.”

Before Claude has the chance to even respond, Dimitri’s out the door. Hilda runs out after him, calling out his name. The door slams shut behind them, leaving an awkward silence in their wake. It hangs over them like a deadweight.

“Well,” Sylvain says. “That could’ve gone better.”

* * *

Felix sits on the steps outside the front door, grumbling under his breath. He tries to distract himself from thinking about it, but all he can think about is playing knights with Dimitri as children, swinging wooden swords and laughing.

Part of him knows that it’s really Dimitri. Sylvain and Ingrid aren’t stupid, even if the former acts like it most of the time. They’ve never really fallen for any of the imposters. He looks up when he hears a slam and watches Dimitri rush by.

Sylvain pops out from behind the door a few seconds later, surprised eyes softening when they see Felix.

“What happened?” Felix asks, hoping it doesn’t seem like he cares.

“Well. Your old man didn’t believe him. Or rather, he didn’t  _ want  _ to believe him,” Sylvain says, taking a seat beside Felix. “You know it’s really him, right?”

“No.”

“Felix,” Sylvain whines.

“Fine. I guess… It really is him.”

“He’s been through a lot,” says a voice from behind them. Ingrid comes to sit beside them.

Felix snorts. “Good for him.”

“Felix, if Rodrigue is going believe anyone, it’s going to be you,” Ingrid says.

“So what? You want me to go convince him?” Felix says sarcastically.

“Yep,” Sylvain says with that shit-eating grin of his.

* * *

Back inside, Rodrigue emerges from the office, rubbing the palm of his hand on his head.

“Is he gone?” he groans, before opening his eyes and realizing that Sylvain and Ingrid aren’t there.

“Uh, hey,” Claude says hesitantly.

Rodrigue spins around to face him, narrowing his eyes.

“Why are you still here?” he demands.

“Listen, I know you’ve been through a lot. But Dimitri isn’t after your money, I swear. I’m the one who brought him here… So, if there’s anyone to blame, it’s me. But… I believe that he really is Dimitri, with all my heart.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he tells Claude, crossing his arms.

“Fine! But know that you just let the real Dimitri go,” Claude says, frustrated. “This is all he has left, he lost his mother, his father—”

“Don’t talk to me about what happened to them. I don’t need to be reminded.”

Claude clenches his fists. A million responses flit through his mind, but instead of speaking, he turns around and walks off, ignoring Sylvain, Felix, and Ingrid as he heads back to the hotel.

Rodrigue stands there, massaging his temple. The door opens.

“You actually chased Dimitri off, huh? You really are going senile, old man.”

* * *

_ “The parade travelled on _

_ With the sun in my eyes, you were gone _

_ But I knew even then _

_ In a crowd of thousands _

_ I’d find you again” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felix is hard to write.
> 
> Welp! One more chapter to go, unless I end up splitting it (though at this point I don't think I will). I hope you've all enjoyed the story so far. This has been like... my first full length fic that wasn't a chatfic, so I've had a lot of fun writing it. Also good luck to all of you doing NaNoWriMo!
> 
> "In a Crowd of Thousands" is such a good song though. I've been very excited to write that part. 
> 
> As always, come talk to me about FE3H and/or musicals on tumblr (@orangeejuice) or twitter (@orangeejuiceren). Thank you all for reading, kudoing, and commenting. It makes my world <3


	8. Things My Heart Used to Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final act comes to a close.

Back at the hotel, Dimitri is shoving things into a bag sitting on the bed. Hilda stands behind him, trying to talk to him and calm him down. Claude, on the other hand, sits in the leather chair near the desk, which he is awfully tempted to bang his head against.

“Listen, Dimitri—” Claude starts.

“I don’t see why I should. I’m tired of your schemes,” Dimitri snaps.

“Where do you even plan to go?” Claude questions, raising an eyebrow.

Dimitri doesn’t answer, snapping the bag shut.

“Dima—” Hilda says, taking another go at reasoning with him.

“Shut up!” Dimitri growls. Hilda’s about to respond, but they’re interrupted by a knock at the door. Everyone freezes, turning slowly. They stand there like statues and the tension is the air is palpable.

“...Come in,” Claude says cautiously.

The door swings open to reveal Rodrigue… and his son? Both of them are a definite surprise and Claude genuinely isn’t sure if he’s more surprised that they’re here or that they know where they’ve been staying.

Rodrigue nods at Dimitri. “I’d like to speak to him alone, please.”

Claude and Hilda exchange an uncertain glance, but the two of them exit the room. They find themselves sitting up against the wall, awkwardly dodging eye contact with Felix, who is leaning against the wall with a bored expression on his face.

  
Claude opens his mouth, only to quickly snap it shut at Felix’s glare that screams “talk to me and I  _ will _ stab you.”

Back in the hotel room, Dimitri eyes Rodrigue with suspicion. After their fight in Rodrigue’s study, he’d resigned himself to the fact that the gig was up. He wasn’t expecting to see Rodrigue again, especially not on the other man’s terms.

“I wish to keep this quick,” Rodrigue starts. “Who are you?”

“... I think you know what my response to that is,” Dimitri responds, looking down.

After a few strained moments of silence, Rodrigue speaks. “Right you are, I suppose. I guess I’ll start with some questions. What—”

Dimitri cuts him off. “I’m sorry. But I need to know why you don’t want me to be him."

Rodrigue chuckles bitterly. “You become doubtful after the numerous amount of imposters.”

“I understand that, but… I don’t see why you came back if you doubt me so much.”

“Ah. That is fair,” Rodrigue grimaces. “In truth, it was my son, Felix, who convinced me. He’s not the type of person to believe in something without reason. Our relationship has been… rather rocky, so him coming to me was quite the shock. Also, that young man, Claude. He told me you weren’t part of his schemes. He too believes you’re the real Dimitri.”

Dimitri’s heart is pounding in his chest. He could sit here and answer questions all day to no avail. It’s in that moment that a faint memory of saying goodbye to Felix and Rodrigue plays in his head.

_ “You gave him a music box? He’ll just break it!” Felix whines. _

_ “Now, now Felix, be nice. Say goodbye to Dimitri and Lambert,” Rodrigue says. _

_ Dimitri ends up giving both of them a hug goodbye (he even ignores it when Felix gets tears all over his shirt), clutching his gift to his chest as he watches their carriage get smaller and smaller in the distance. Eventually, his father herds him back inside the palace, where Dimitri lies on his stomach on the carpet of his stepmother’s room, staring at the music box. He’s taking Felix’s words to heart and is not winding it up in fear of breaking it. He hums the lullaby quietly as his father kneels beside him and pats his head. _

“I know you don’t wish to believe me,” Dimitri starts. “I don’t know if this will be enough to convince you, but…”

Dimitri reaches his hand into the pocket of his coat and pulls out the music box. As a child, it had been so big in his small hands. Now, he only needs one hand to hold it.   
  


“Is that—?” Rodrigue asks, eyes widening.

“When I was young, you and Felix came to visit us in Fhirdiad. I remember you gave this to me as a parting gift. I can’t sing the lullaby, nor can I pretend to even remember the words, but I know my stepmother would sing it to me when I asked…”

Rodrigue takes the music box from his hand, inspecting it. “It can’t be…”

“You told me that whenever I missed my friends, I could listen to the lullaby and think about being together again. I remember the day you left so well…” Dimitri trails off.

The world melts away as he’s suddenly swept into an embrace. Even with all his family dead, Rodrigue is still here. He doesn’t notice when Claude walks in, smiling softly at them. He is, however, momentarily broken out of his emotional haze by the sound of a door softly shutting.

* * *

The aftermath goes like this: Sylvain, Felix, and Ingrid all spend time catching up with Dimitri. Claude accompanies them because, for the life of him, he can’t seem to find Hilda. He thinks she said something about going to see a former classmate of theirs. Marianne, probably. During this time, Rodrigue announces Dimitri’s return and survival.

This leads to a swarm of reporters standing outside the Fraldarius estate, begging to know every single aspect of Dimitri’s life after that fateful day five years ago. They also throw in demands to see him, despite the fact that if they waited, they would get the chance sooner or later.

This, in turn, ends up with Sylvain, Ingrid, and Hilda trying to keep the reporters at bay. Felix is there too, but, well… He’s very  _ different  _ in his method of driving them back. They pretend not to notice Sylvain flirting with one of the reporters.

“You’ve been friends with Dimitri since childhood, right? Do you really believe that this is him? When will Lord Rodrigue come out?” A lady says, asking one question after another, shoving herself into in Felix’s personal space. He sends her a glare, sending her shrinking back.

“Sorry about my friend here,” Sylvain says, winking as he wraps an arm around Felix’s shoulders. Ingrid, having overheard them, walks over.

“Hello,” she greets, trying to keep her tone friendly. “Lord Rodrigue is running rather late at the moment. We’d appreciate your patience. I don’t have much more information to offer you, so you’ll have to wait.”

After a moment, Sylvain blurts, “All I’m gonna say is you’re going to see His Highness soon, too. If you want… I can get you an interview with him. The only price is a date—Ow!”

Sylvain hops on one foot, clutching the other where Ingrid has kicked him rather hard in the shin. Felix is glaring at him.

“As we said,” Ingrid reaffirms. “You’ll need to—”

Before she can finish speaking, they’re swarming by reporters who overheard Sylvain’s last statement. Ingrid pinches her brow but is saved by Hilda squirming her way through the crowd.

“We’re almost ready, everyone!” she announces. “Members of the press, follow me.”

She leads them off, allowing Ingrid, Sylvain, and Felix a moment to breathe. However, they know the peace will not last. After their momentary respite, they follow after Hilda.

* * *

Dimitri fiddles with his cravat, feeling extremely stuffy in his formal clothes. Everything he’s wearing is ornate, decorated in blacks, whites, and royal blues. Even the eyepatch Claude gave him has been exchanged for one with gold patterns decorating it. At the very least, he can appreciate the fact that Hilda had tied his hair back so he won’t have much of it falling in his eyes.

Rodrigue is explaining what’s going to happen and while Dimitri knows it’s important to listen, Rodrigue’s words become meer white noise in his head. There are… other matters on his mind. He shakes his head, breaking himself out of his haze as Hilda enters. 

“They’re all lined up out there,” she tells them. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Rodrigue thanks her as she heads back out. Dimitri is getting less enthused with each minute he spends standing here.

“Where’s that young man of yours?” Rodrigue asks. Dimitri feels his ears burning.

“He’s not  _ mine _ ,” he says defensively. “I haven’t seen him since this morning.”

“You know, he refused the reward for finding you. He’s a good character, that one.”

Dimitri blinks once. Then twice. “He  _ refused  _ it?”

“He said that your happiness was enough of a reward in itself,” Rodrigue chuckles. “I must leave to go prepare now, but try not to let the nerves get to you. The people will be happy to see you, that I’m sure of.”

With that, Dimitri is left alone in the large room with nothing but his thoughts. Once again, he finds himself thinking of this moment that he’s been waiting for. The moment where everything he’s dreamed of for years is right in front of him. But this time, it comes with a new feeling: doubt. He thinks of Claude. Dimitri knows that after this… their future is uncertain.

_ Is this really what you want? _ asks a little voice in the back of his head. He scrambles for an answer, but can’t seem to find one. He thinks of promising to help Claude with his dream. He thinks of Claude’s lips on his in their hotel room. He thinks of Claude meeting him as a child. But he’s interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching.

“You,” a sharp voice rings out. 

Dimitri spins to face the person, eyes widening. “Edelgard.”

That’s another thing… the time they spent together, however brief, is something special. It’s faint in between all the other things his brain is trying to remember, but he knows he felt happy when he spent time with her. But he knows why she’s here now.

“It was a grave error on my part to let you go,” she starts, determined. He notices her draw a pistol and swiftly load it. “Now, I must fix it.”

She raises the pistol. 

“You don’t have to do this, El,” he says.

“You know that I do,  _ Dimitri _ ,” Edelgard says. “If you really are him, then I have no other choice.”

She wraps a finger around the trigger. Dimitri shakes his head. “There are other ways to achieve harmony, apart from bloodshed.”

“This is the path I’ve chosen to walk,” Edelgard tells him. “I cannot stray from it now. The Kingdom will forever stand in my way if I let you live. You were never supposed to survive another longer than your father.”

“But I did,” Dimitri reminds her, stepping closer. “My father, my stepmother, everyone I knew, everyone I  _ loved _ died that day. I’m all that remains. If this is the path you’ve chosen, then go on. Finish it.”

“If you think I’ll let remorse and guilt weigh me down, you’ve been mistaken,” she hisses. “The Edelgard who cried died long ago.”

“I can say the same about myself,” he says, taking yet another step towards her.

“Prepare yourself,” she warns, steeling herself.

“Kill me and you’ll be no better than the ones who slaughtered my family! The very same people who made them suffer in agony as they dealt their last breath,” Dimitri snarls. He and Edelgard stand barely a foot apart now. He takes his chance, lunging for the gun and knocking it from her hands. It falls to the floor on his right side. He turns, but Edelgard connects her foot to his chest, knocking the air from his lungs and pushing him to the ground.

“Struggling will only make this worse, Dimitri,” she snaps. He looks down, thoughts racing. Perhaps he’d be happier if she finished it now, but… he finds that he wants to live. He wants to live for his family. For Rodrigue and Felix and all his friends. For Hilda and especially for Claude. He looks back up, making eye contact with Edelgard.

“Remember when you taught me to dance, El?” he says, hand slowly and blindly inching towards where the gun has fallen. It’s in his blind spot, but if he could grab it… “You were quite a harsh teacher…” 

Edelgard seems to hesitate. Her stare is blank and unfocused and she hasn’t gone for the gun yet. Just then, his fingers connect with it. He quickly grabs it and jumps up onto his feet, pointing it at her.

“Those were the happiest times of my life. I don’t want to kill you, El,” he tells her. “You’re my sister. This doesn’t have to end like this.”

Edelgard sighs. For a second, he thinks she’s given up. But before he can blink, she’s drawn a familiar blue-hilted dagger and has thrust it into his shoulder. Just as quickly, he pulls the trigger.

  
_ BANG _

She stares at him, eyes wide, and hand still clutching the dagger’s hilt. Then, she takes one step backward, then another, and then falls to the ground, clutching her chest.

“Finish it,” she gurgles, breath harsh. It’s a sick parallel to the words he had spoken to her moments earlier. It’s a victory, but not the one he wants.

  
Dimitri squeezes his eyes shut, raises the gun, and pulls the trigger.

He’s not sure what happens after. He stands there, staring at her body. He remembers pulling the dagger from his chest and dropping it on the ground. For all he knows, it could’ve been seconds, or minutes, or hours of him standing there, numbly.

“Dimitri!? What’s going—oh,” Claude says, shock evident in his voice. “Uhm. Are you okay?”

Dimitri nods, not trusting his voice. Claude grabs his hand and leads him away from where Edelgard’s body is. They stand side by side, looking at the sun overhead. Despite the blood (that isn’t really there) on his hands, he lets Claude take them.

“I came to say goodbye,” Claude says. His voice sounds small.

“Goodbye?” Dimitri echoes.

“I can’t love someone I can’t be with. You’re a prince again,” Claude explains. “We were always going to end up going down separate paths.”

“What if,” Dimitri says, pulling him closer. “I want to be with you, too?”

* * *

“We really can’t hold the press back anymore,” Ingrid tells Rodrigue. “We need to start.”

Just then, Hilda bursts in. “I can’t find Dimitri anywhere!” she yells, panicked. “Claude’s gone too!”

They turn the estate upside-down searching for the two of them. They find the body of a young woman, later identified as Edelgard von Hresvelg. What she’s doing all this way from the Empire, or even the Dukedom, is anyone’s guess. Still, there’s no trace of Dimitri or Claude. Their belongings are similarly missing.

After a prolonged search, Rodrigue finally walks out to greet the press and finds himself flooded with questions about where the prince is. He shakes his head and announces that there will be no more Dimitri’s. He nearly goes death from the sudden uproar.

The reward for Dimitri’s safe return goes to the war effort. With the Empire considerably weakened, the Kingdom is finally able to take back Fhirdiad and eventually, the rest of the Kingdom. It ends with a truce, as wars tend to do. A young man in the Empire had worked out negotiations. 

A few months after Dimitri and Claude’s disappearance, each of their friends receives a letter that puts their minds at ease.

And so gone to time was Prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. The history books may claim that Dimitri died all those years ago in the palace, but some people still say he lived. Some know for a fact.

This knowledge lies with a young woman with pink hair and matching pink eyes, smiling when she and her blue-haired companion pay a visit to a foreign country. The knowledge continues with three friends, content with the letters they receive and send back in turn. Some more content with it than others, but deep down, they’ll never forget their friend. And though part of him will always deny it, Rodrigue knows that somewhere out there, his best friend is smiling down proudly at his son, wherever he may be now.

Rumors and gossip concerning the Prince’s true fate are spread throughout the Kingdom, into the Empire and the Alliance. Some even reach a young man living in Almyra, who always laughs when he hears them.

He turns to his right to look at the blonde-haired man beside him.

“If only they knew, Dimitri.”

_ fin. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well then! That’s a wrap! Thank you all for staying with me through this crazy thing! I’ve truly had such a fun time writing this. I implore those of you who haven’t yet to go listen to the musical (or watch a bootleg, they’re out there on tumblr). It’s very good and has a lot of bangers. My personal favorites are A Rumor in St. Petersburg, In a Crowd of Thousands, and the Neva Flows (Reprise).
> 
> I wasn’t originally going to kill Edelgard, as Gleb lives in the story. But, I don’t think Edelgard is the type of person to let Dimitri live. She’s very persistent and is willing to do what it takes to achieve her goals and her ideal future. Thus, this had an Azure Moon-like ending. This kinda benefitted me though because I was very unsure of just letting the Kingdom get screwed over when Dimitri runs off to Almyra with Claude, which was what would've probably happened if she lived.
> 
> As for me and my future writing, you can probably catch me writing some more FE3H fics. Probably nothing Dimiclaude, but I’ve got a large list of ideas that mostly fall into the realm of gen (because I’m a slut for platonic relationships). So, if you choose to read them, I’ll see you there!
> 
> Thank you all so very much for reading, kudoing, commenting, and bookmarking. I can’t put into words how much this has meant to me, especially with this being my first serious fanfic. I may not answer every comment, but trust me, I read all of them. They all mean so so much to me.
> 
> As always, you can find my tumblr @orangeejuice and my twitter @orangejuiceeren. I’d love if you came and talked to me about FE3H or musicals!
> 
> A big thank you to my two friends, Via and Lani. Despite the fact that neither of you care or know anything about FE3H, you put up with all my ramblings and are constantly supportive of my work. Love you guys.

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since I saw this musical in early August, I couldn't get the idea out of my head. So, I had to write about it. At 12 am. On my phone. Originally had Rufus in Rodrigue's place, but Rodrigue made way more sense since he actually cares about Dimitri. This will follow the basic plot and events of Anastasia but it won't be so cut and dry and there will be different characters filling in new/different roles. Everyone in the tags will make an appearance. Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @orangeejuice


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